Blood Red Rose
by Priestess of the Myrmidon
Summary: She is an assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she has to do is draw her knife along a neck
1. Captured!

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: She is an assasin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is ever easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC? (maybe)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, unless I wrote it and it's not from the movie. I am not so cracked in the head as to believe I do. If you think that and wish to sue me, I suggest you take a long walk off of a short pier.

"_Woad's language"  
_"Latin"  
_thoughts_

**A/N: THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN ADDED THE FIRST TIME, BUT I DIDN'T (YES I KNOW, NAUGHTY ME). TITLE IS FROM "Blood Red Rose for Legolas" Thanks go out to LegolasIsMine. I forgot. **

* * *

Prologue: 

The young Woad girl laughed happily, screaming as she ran, her voice piercing the air as she dodged trees. The two children reached a clearing.

She dodged snow missiles that were launched at her by her friend. She tripped over a hidden tree trunk, but quickly regained her balance. She leaned over and scooped up some snow and sculpted it into a ball. She tossed it over her shoulder without even bothering to look back to aim at him.

_"Ha_, Mahon!" she snapped with a slight lisp. "_You cannot catch me_!"

Her chestnut hair flew behind her and blue eyes glinted with excitement. She weaved through trees like a sprite or fairy creature of legends. She had skin that was not yet smeared with the Woad plant.

She slowed down to glance back at her friend and grinned at him. Her chest heaved as she continued to run in circles, losing the battle of trying to keep distance between them; he was gaining on her quickly. He laughed.

Again she looked back at him, this time she looked back in time to see an arrow sprout from her friend's chest. "Mahon!" she screamed as her friend collapsed, eyes closing. "_Mahon!"_

She turned around and rushed to him, her young chubby legs carrying her as fast as she could run. She started hitting his chest in attempts to make his eyes open. For him to do something. _Anything_. "_Wake up!_" she cried, tears splashing down her young face confusedly, not understanding why Mahon was sleeping at a time like this. It was in the middle of their game! They _always _played this game in the winter, why was he suddenly not interested in playing it?

As she realized that _this_ was the 'death' that the elders had talked about, men slunk up behind her, surrounding her. By the time she realized that they were there, it was far too late. Belatedly, she attempted to slip past them towards the haven of the trees.

Too late she remembered her parent's warning of not straying too far from the others. Too late she remembered their stories of the dead and dissapeared others. Of their warnings of evil men who captured and sold pretty little woad girls.

The strange men easily caughter her and both gagged and tied her up. "_Stop it,_" said her muffled voice in her language. "_It hurts! You killed him_! _You hurt Mahon! Meanie!_" she cried.

The girl tried to move forwards to her friend's body. One scooped her up to prevent her from moving, holding his arm around her preventing most movement. She bit, scratched, hit and kicked at her captor fiercely, hissing angrily. She was dropped to the ground with a swear as her small and sharp teeth sunk into the offending arm, drawing a line of blood, she noted with some satisfaction. Despite hitting the ground painfully, she scrambled up, quite a feat for having ones hands bound together with a length of rope.

She attempted to dodge around one of the men. For her efforts to struggle free, she recieved a stinging slap to the face and tears continued to fall down her face, albeit more fell this time. Slowly, the red imprint of a palm revealed itself on her cheek.

"Shut up!" snarled one of her captors. While she could not understand him, her seven-year-old mind registered that it probably meant something along the lines of 'keep quiet' or 'shut up.' She complied to their wish, fearful of another painful slap from one of them.

A man grabbed her roughly and she cried out, not used to such careless handling. She tried to shrink back from him but did not succeed for he had a strong grip on her arm.

"Get moving," snapped one of the men impatiendly, fearful that the other Woads would come. The girl stared at him dumbly, not posessing the knowledge of Latin. With a growl, he shoved her forwards. Taking the hint, she began to follow him, trudging along as gracefully as all of her seven years could manage.

"Perhaps she shows a glimmer of intelligence, Maurus. Mayhap we won't feed her to the dogs... yet," said another. They all laughed cruelly at her expense, as she tried to understand their words.

All missed the boy whose golden eyes watched them from behind a tree. All missed him as he slipped away, melting into the shadows of the trees.

But she hadn't missed him, her deft eyes finding him, and cried all the harder when her only chance of escape dissapeared. She was alone, abandoned to her fate.

**

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**Bear with me, new readers. I know that this is not a very good chapter and I aknowledge it; I'm going to go back soon and re-edit it. But for now, I'm just leaving this note. 

Oooo... I wonder who the knight is. :D

This is only short because it is a prologue. Please review peoples. If you don't like something, tell me. How else can I change it if I don't know? No flames, I might just roast a llama. :P

Priestess


	2. To Hadrian's Wall

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, unless I wrote it and it's not from the movie. I am not so cracked in the head as to believe I do. If you think that and wish to sue me, I suggest you take a long walk off of a short pier.

"_Woad's language"_

"Latin"

_thoughts_

MedivalWarriorPrincess- Why thank you. It probably would. LOL. :P I love llamas; I'd never roast one. Yeah, it's a tough decision 'cause I really liked them all, too. Argh:P It's kinda hard to tell online... was that sarcasm or do you really know? is clueless, as always Thanks a ton for the review.

LANCELOTTRISTANBABY- Here's your update. I haven't been able to update because I got gounded. Again. Which I always seem to be doing. :) Many thanks for the review.

Lady Marek- It just popped into my head when I was sitting in school, staring at the back of the girl's head in front of me, listening to my English teacher go on, and on, and on... :P

LegolasIsMine- I know. I forgot to add that part; thanks so much for reminding me!

Freethinker- Yeah I like the translations too... that was half the reason I picked those out of them all (Celtic/Gaelic ones on and the other half was because I like the name. :D

Emerald Isis- I'm glad you think so. :)

Calliope Foster- Thank you. So do I, but I liked them all and couldn't choose one.

I'm very grateful to my reviewers! Come on peoples. 76 hits... 7 reviews! Thanks go to MedivalWarriorPrincess, LANCELOTTRISTANBABY, Lady Marek, LegolasIsMine, Freethinker, Calliope Foster and EmeraldIsis.

Double thanks to my new beta, Carnivorous Pineapple.

* * *

But she didn't, and cried all the harder when her only chance of escape disappeared. She was alone, abandoned to her fate.

* * *

Rhoswen woke with a violent start, sweat pouring down her face. She blinked to wake herself upand dabbed away the sweat with her sleeves, taking deep breaths to calm herself down as her chest heaved in remembrence of the panic she had felt. 

Still breathing a bit heavily, she impatiently swiped back her brown bangs and got up, padding silently to her vanity. She tied her hair back into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck; then, clad only in her shift, she slipped on her boots.

Then she remembered something that she had forgotten. Walking back over to her bed, she fished her knife out from underneath her pillow. Some of Maunrus' other assassins were too rowdy for her liking and she had no urge to be raped by one of them.

Sheathing the knife so that she did not cut herself, she hid it underneath her sleeve and walked to the window. She stepped onto the windowsill and jumped out onto a tree, grabbing a branch to steady herself. Rhoswen then scurried up to a larger branch than the one she was perched on. The thought of the branch snapping and sending her falling to the ground below didn't seem like a particularly appealing idea. She sat back against the tree and drew her knife, staring at it intently, watching the moonlight glint off the silver blade.

It had been years since the last time she'd dreamed of her enslavement to the Roman man.

Dreamed of her capture.

It used to haunt her dreams, especially when she had just been sold to Maunrus,but it didn't any more; she had outgrown it. It was distressing to think about it, and she did not need anything else distressing in her life.She still dreamed about _him_, though. The boy who had left her there in the forest. She knew he could have helped her, but he had chosen not to.

But it would soon be all over;it would fade from her conciousness, she hoped. She would no longer be Aidan. She would once again be Rhoswen.She was so close. So close to freedom. All that was left was Artorius Castus. Who he was besides commander of the Sarmatian knights, she knew not, but she didn't care, so long as she—and her mother—were free with their papers of safe conduct. She knew not where her mother was locked up, only that it was dark and dismal, and no place that a Woad should be.

She sighed as she twirled the knife. Once, she'd hated killing, but now it was something that she fancied, you could say. Initially, she'd been forced to kill, but now she was addicted to it. Addicted to the blood, the power, the danger, the rush. She supposed it made her a bad person to enjoy the fear in the men's eyes that she killed; their panicked breath as they struggled to draw in breath after their throat had been slit. She supposed that her enjoyment of their pain made her like Maunrus in a way, but she had the comforting thought that at least she was not so terrible as Maunrus. She didn't think anybody was, or at least in her mind.

She twirled the knife between her fingers and watched the moonlight glint off the shiny silver blade, as light would glance off a wolf's eyes... like the eyes of the boy who'd abandoned her so long ago. She had no knowledge of his name, only the remembrance of hatred for him. Only a remembrence of those eyes, thehair, all those other little details that she clung to... that would be enough to find him by, she hoped.If she ever found him, she was going to kill him.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she enjoyed the fresh air, but they flew open at the snap of a twig. Keen eyes roamed and saw nothing but the startled flight of a bird. It looked so free.

To be free...her mind wandered. What would it like to be free? She couldn't remember anymore; she'd lived the greater part of her life in slavery, so it was hard to remember what it had been like. She couldn't wait to shrug off the chains of slavery.

Even if she were to run away, abandoning this horrible place, she still had them: the brand and the collar. At the thought of the collar her hand flew to touch it, feeling the icy coolness of the metal on her skin. Nobody, lest they had Maurus' permission, dared to remove it. Everybody was too scared. She'd tried, once, but the man who she had tried to get to take off the collar had fled in fear of Maurus' wrath; he dared not touch it. She fingered the hated thing thoughtfully, her mind reeling as she thought of tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would leave for Hadrian's Wall.

For about an hour, Rhoswen sat there, contemplating life and just enjoying the fresh air on her face. This was the closest thing to freedom she would have until she killed the Roman commander. Rhoswen didn't even wonder why she was to kill him. She had killed too many times before.She'd often had assignments that were much stranger than this one, so she didn't so much as blink after receiving the order. She felt guilty if she thought about it, so she had learned not to wonder about the why of the assignments and just kill.

Finally, the young assassin realized it was late and she needed her sleep. She clambered back into her bed and gave a contented sigh as her body hit the straw-stuffed mattress. In only a few more days, she would be free...

* * *

As soon as the sun rose, she stuffed clothes, weapons, money and food into her saddlebags. After hurriedly eating an apple, she rushed down to the stables, hauling the heavy bags behind her. Once there, she dropped the offending items and tacked up her horse. 

The mare had cost Rhoswen a handful more months of service, but in the end, the blasted beast may have been worth it. Chosen for her speed, agility and loyalty, Enya was overall a splendid horse. She indeed ended up being black, which was a color that many people associated with assassins, though the mare was not chosen for that reason. When the bags were strapped on and Rhoswen had mounted, she nudged Enya's sides and the horse broke into a light canter.

Wind whipped the assassin's dratted hair free of its constraints and the brown locks flew behind her. She felt so free. She was heading towards Artorius. Towards Hadrian's Wall...and towards freedom.

* * *

Three days later Hadrian's Wall came into view, the tops of the fortress peeking over the green, grassy hill. Not one to risk her life after coming so far, Rhoswen decided to camp in the forest until nightfall, when she would sneak in to hopefully find Artorius. 

Rhoswen talked to Enya to pass the time as she fretted, planning. Would he be guarded? Would his knights be around him at all times? Where were exits located? She looked over the map that her master had given her when he'd told her she was to kill Artorius, again, mind racing. The fastest way out was probably the window. She hoped that Artorius didn't have one of the inner rooms. Ugh. She hated waiting; it had never been one of her stronger points. After far too much time had passed, the sun finally sank beneath the hills and the moon and stars rose.

It was time. She murmured to Enya to stay put.

Rhoswen armed herself with many weapons. She'd learnedearly on that you could really never have enough weapons.Visible ones (a sword) and hidden ones (knives) lest she was searched. She examined the map for a final time before folding it up and stuffing it into the saddlebags, along with everything else that she did not need for tonight. She checked to make sure that Enya was tied down securely so that she did not take off, and then she left.

As silently as she could, Rhoswen scaled the wall, which wasn't the easiest of things. In fact, it took the assassin almost twenty minutes to climbto thetop ofit. Once at the top of the wall, she slipped past the drunken Roman guards. She scoffed to herself. He hadn't bothered to watch the guards to make sure that they were actually doing their duty well. Artorius was the typical Roman commander--arrogant and an imbecile. She'd met far too many men like him for her liking.

The assassin passed the tavern on the map, then headed south, hiding in the shadows. She peeked around the corner, but sawnobody. Were all of the Romans drunk? On second thought, perhaps she should check the tavern. Thank the gods it was an open one so she didn't have to open any doors. She didn't know what she would have done if she had had to enter a tavern that had a door.

She hid in the shadows and watched, her eyes automatically drawn to the men who looked foreign and exotic. Sarmatians were not from around here, so any of the men who look different the Romans would probably be the knights.

The one with long blond hair? Perhaps. She listened closer to the conversation. No, that was Gawain. The curly haired man who'd addressed him was Galahad. Again, not who she was looking for. There was a man in the corner watching the others silently. Another held a baby. Artorius didn't have children, did he? She hoped he didn't. A woman addressed the man as Bors, and he, in turn, called the silent one Dagonet. That left two. Another curly-haired one and a wild-looking one with braids. The one with the curls seemed to be losing the game of dice he was playing, for he wore a look of disdain and anger at the moment. No, he was not the commander. "Gawain" addressed him as Lancelot. Damn it, where was Artorius? That left the one with the braids. Surely he was not Roman, was he? Her musings were interrupted suddenly as a dagger pierced the wooden beam next to her head, right where it had been a moment ago.

She fled, booted feet padding silently on the stone road. She heard distantly the man with the braids being called "Tristran." Where was Artorius if he was not with his knights? Perhaps he was in the tavern and just not sitting with his knights. For after all, it was demeaning for a Roman to talk with 'slaves' more than they had to. For all she knew he could have been playing dice with some of the other Romans. Well, she would, for the moment, find a quiet place for her to think.

She found her way to the stables after a bit of wandering and thensat in the shadows, contemplating her options and the more obvious question: Where was he? Rhoswen realized that she could not just ask somebody where Artorius was; that would have been too easy. She would probably have to find work around there. She supposed she could be a bar maid, or a stable hand, or a maid. Yes, and then one night she would slip into his room, quietly slit his throat, then escape. That sounded like a good enough plan. Now she had to find the blasted man and get some work. She would also have to find an excuse as to why she had weapons and why she had a horse. Maybe this _was _one of the times it would have been better to be more lightly armed than she was. Oh well; it was too late for that.

With an inaudible sigh, the girl rose and dusted the hay off of her dark breeches. As she silently dropped to the ground from the loft, a horse stamped its feet and she glanced over at it, startled.It was adappled grey horse. A grumpy dappled grey at that.

Rhoswen wandered aroundquietly, half in the shadows and half out of them, so thatno person could accuse her of sneaking around, but she would not be spotted tooeasily. Well, it wouldn't matter ifsomebody thought she was sneaking around; she was suspicious looking enough as it was.

When she rounded a corner a bit too closely, she bit back a gasp as she ran into somebody's hard chest, and she stumbled backwards a few feet. She cursed her foolishness and looked up to meet golden eyes.

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Es Fin. Or at least this chapter is.

No flames or I might just roast a llama, and who wants that?

Please review you guys. It only takes a few seconds! But even if you don't review, thanks for reading.

Bear with me, new readers. I know that this is not a very good chapter and I aknowledge it; I'm going to go back soon and re-edit it. But for now, I'm just leaving this note.

Priestess


	3. Tristran and Artorius Castus

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assasin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, unless I wrote it and it's not from the movie. I am not so cracked in the head as to believe I do. If you think that and wish to sue me, I suggest you take a long walk off of a short pier.

**Title is from Blood Rose for Legolas. Again, many thanks to Legolas IsMine!**

"_Woad's language"_

"Latin"

_Thoughts_

Sarah: I'm sorry you feel that way. First of all, I am well aware that there are other stories with assassins. For a topic (King Arthur) that has (as of today) 1123 stories, it is 99.9 impossible to come up with a completely 100 completely different story (exception being the first people to post their stories and wild-vixen with her story "In the Eyes of a Hawk"), but even then, they've got to be similar to stories in _other _categories. And even books are slightly similar… there are thousands out, so what's the chance that you'll come up with something 100 different? Honestly. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to which you think this story resembles the most. I will look it over, and then mine. OK? If anything resembles another story, it was not because I copied it. It was purely by accident. Just like the disclaimer on books like: "Any similarities between actually people and events are purely accidental." Thanks. Rachel.

Wild-vixen: I hope you don't mind me using you as an example for the above reply to Sarah's review. Tell me if you're right! I knew exactly who she ran into before I even wrote it. I UPDATED! And pretty fast, too! Which is amazing for _me. _I can notoriously be the slowest to update. Example, my "Troy" fic, which I haven't updated in oh… about six months… June 18. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

KnightMaiden: Mind reader! Ugh. I want to branch out, but I can't. You killed it! I was so close to trying to send myself to "unobsess over Tristran rehab"… Oh well. Yes, he did seem rather lonely to me. And wait no more. Volia! It is an update! In the same day! Thank you for the review.

Rosha's FlowerPetals (and the little green man on your shoulder): THANK YOU! I forgot about that. I will add it in this chapter. Thank you _so _much, I wouldn't have picked that up. And how everything fits together? Well, you should have seen the work Carnivorous Pineapple and I had to do to make the chapter fit. (I forgot she had to climb a wall!) hits self on head I mean, come _on. _Ooops. I can be rather silly at times. OMG. Thank you so much for the collapsible llama. I love it! gushes and goes on for hours about how lovable it is pats llama on head Of course I won't roast you! Thanks.

FreeThinker: Why thank you! You have no idea how long I sat there, just staring at the monitor, wondering which name I should pick! LOL. Seriously. Anywho, here's your update. (Fast of me!) Amazing… many thanks for the review.

**A/N: Well, we get to see who she encountered and how this all ties in! Guess, I dare you! Well, personally I think it's kind of obvious, but whatever. And I made Arthur a little more jovial because I thought he was a tad too serious in the movie. He had no sense of humor what so ever. Or, at least, that's what _I _thought when watching the movie.**

On to chapter three:

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When she rounded the corner, she bit back a gasp as she ran into somebody's hard chest and stumbled back a few feet. She cursed her foolishness and looked up to meet golden eyes.

* * *

Those were the same eyes as the boy's who had been in the forest when she had been captured! Very few people had those eyes, and the tattoos were the same, and so was the hair! It had to be him! 

She bit back the flare of hatred. Now was not the place or time to let that anger show. But with the hatred she feltcame satisfaction; now she had a name _and _face to find him by once she was done killing Artorius!

Rhoswen knew she had a chance at besting him in a fight, however small it was, but if she only injured him, her mission would fail. She would have to flee and then he would know what she looked like so she would not be able to come back again to finish what she had started. When she failed, her only chance of freedom for her and her mother would disappear in a wink. No, she was too close to jepordize her freedom.

She'd have to wait. Revenge would have to wait. She could wait another week, right? Rhoswen hoped so. She put on a sickeningly meek smile and dimpled. Her lip quivered as tears welled in her eyes.

"And your name is?" His voice was gruff, but not unpleasant to listen to.

"Aidan, milord. Oh please, _please,_don't be angry about my clumsiness!I didn't mean to run into you." Unconsciously, her hand flew to her neck to make sure the collar was hidden by the collar of her shirt. She breathed a sigh of relief when she made sure that it was indeed hidden. The knights would probably know what an assassin's collar was, so it was best to make sure that they did not see it.

"Why are you sneaking around?" He was blunt and to the point. Well, just because _he _was, didn't mean she had to be.

"Whhhat do you mean… 'sneaking around'?" she stuttered. He gave her a pointed look, and she decided to answer his question. "I wasn't sneaking around… I was just looking for work around here."Come to think of it, itwas actually true. Just she was looking for the job already assigned to her instead of looking for one to be assigned.

Rhoswen pulled a curtsey, even though she had breeches on, and hoped that she didn't look utterly ridiculous. She smiled like a foolish Roman noblewomanand kept her eyes cast downwards, batting her eyelashes so as to fool him into thinking she was stupid.

The corners of his mouth twitched, saying he was not fooled in the least. Well, he had no proof that she meant harm to anybody around here, so he couldn't do anything. At least she hope so. But thankfully,he accepted her story, for the mean while.

"Weapons?" She knew what he meant, but gazed dazedly at him, not moving. "Hand me your weapons, girl."

Rhoswen wore a bashful look and handed him her swords, knives and everything else, except the two knives hidden in her sleeves, and the two in her boots, taking special care so as to fumble them so it looked like she was uncoordinated and could not wield weapons. She knew it would not work on him, but it didn't hurt anything to try.

Tristran kept holding his hand out, after tucking the others away. The young woman pulled a confused face, hoping thathe would just get annoyed and leave her with her other weapons.

Unfortunately for her, it did not work. He snapped his fingers. "How about the others?" She slipped the ones from her sleeves and boots out and gave them to him. Oh, how she wanted to slap that look off of his face!

"Last one?" She swore at him mentally, not happy at all to be parted from all of her weapons. _Damn you_, she thought. The man was good, she had to give him that. She probably wouldn't havenoticed the last one if she had been him.With a sigh, she fished out the last one from between her breasts. After receiving the final one, he made a gesture to follow and she did, struggling to keep up with him. She reminded herself of a little puppy, following its master.

Her thoughts turned back to Tristran as the walked in silence. That one was observant. She'd have to keep an eye on him and make sure that she didn't give him any reasons to doubt her story any more than he obviously did.

He led her to Artorius' room. Rhoswen smirked to herself. He was making it so easy for her. She now knew where to go. She hadn't even asked to see him! But what she didn't know was that the rooms surrounding his belonged to his knights. She would have a lot harder of a time sneaking in on the commander than she thought.

Tristran knocked on the simple wooden door. Strangely, it was rather undecorated, with no carvings or stones inlaid. Perhaps he wasn't taking her to Artorius Castus after all.

"Come in." A voice sounded from within. It was deep and smooth, but not as sleek as the knight called Lancelot's. Neither was it gruff and accented, like Tristran's.

Tristran opened the door.

"Tristran. Our best scout! Welcome to my humble abode, though yes, you have been here many times before." The man with braids raised an eyebrow and a smirk barely touched his mouth. It was small, but it was there. It was the closest Rhoswen had come to seeing the man smile. But then, she had only seen him for about twenty minutes. She would wager almost anything that Tristran was the type who was almost always silent."Best and only are really the same things!"

She mulled over that. The commander seemed rather close to his knight and was not at all arrogant or stuffy like the traditional Roman. Her impression of him changed drastically for, at first, she had thought him to be just like the others. Overdressed, overconfident and the like. But he wasn't, which was probably going to make the job even harder than it obviously was going to be.

"True. Now we wouldn't want Bors scouting, would we Arthur?" The most words he had ever strung together, she noted. But then, she had only known him for part of a night.

"God no!" Artorius turned to her, as though he had just noticed her. "And you, Lady. Who be you, gentle lady?" She snorted inwardly. _'Lady' my ass, _she thought.

"Aidan, my lord," came the quiet reply from her.

"Lady Aidan, I take it that impressive collection of weapons is yours." It wasn't a really a question. "My lady, why have you sought me?"

"Well, sir," she improvised quickly, hoping that her story would not be too full of holes. "My parents…" she eked out a couple of tears. "They, they're dead." Well, it was semi-true. She hadn't seen her mother or father in years. Sniff. "Woads… they killed them." Another sniff. "And since I was close to… to Hadrian's Wall, I came to… to see if I could get some work."

And the weapons? They couldn't know that she could use them 'til it was too late, so she quickly thought of a reason that a young, normal woman like her would have so many weapons."I took my father's and my brothers weapons…" Another tear slid down her cheek. "I took them so that it would look like I could use them." More sniffs. "I did it to, to discourage attackers. Besides, those are the only things that I could save that was theirs. And if I needed money, I could sell them. May I get my horse and things I… salvaged? I didn't want to put them in the stables lest I couldn't find work and therein not being able to pay for keeping her there."

Tristran looked amused, Arthur pitying. Sly bastard. Had her family actually been murdered she would have slapped it off of his face. Gods he was cruel. In that instant, when Arthur turned to her with pity in his sweet brown eyes, she knew she had him. That was, if the scout didn't interfere.

"I'm very sorry to hear of your loss, Lady," he said gently. "Of course I'll find you some work around this big place. There's got to be something for you to do! Tristran, accompany her to the forest so that she receives no harm and then find her a permanent room and spot in the stables for her horse."

And the grand prize and more were hers! Rhoswen thought to herself excitedly. Almost there! She was almost a quarter of the way to being free! The assassin couldn't wait for it to all be over. For her to be free. For her mother to be free. For her to go back to her people.

"Thank you so much, my lord Artorius." And in a strange way, she truly _was _indeed grateful of his unwavering trust and almost childlike belief that everybody meant nobody any harm. "Sir Knight?" she asked softly.

Rhoswen received a grunt, which she took to be a sign to continue. Well, if it wasn't, too bad for him."May… may I have my father's…" a couple more tears dripped down her face. "weapons?"

This, by far, was her best acting job yet. Being an assassin required lying and manipulating, but not to the level as this job had! "…they, they're all I have left of them." Rhoswen had made sure Arthur had heard this, so in case the scout said no (which she had a feeling he would) she could invoke the commander's mercy.

Tristran glanced back at his commanding officer and the Woad guessed the other man had nodded, for the Sarmatian had stiffened slightly. With a partially wary look, the knight handed her all of her weapons back.

She "accidentally" dropped her sword to the ground, wincing to herself as the rather plain but sturdy weapon clanged on the ground, making a clear, if not rather lovely sound as the metal collided with stone. She bent to pick it up, but dropped a knife in the process.

His keen eyes did not miss the fact that _again _she had dropped the one of lesser quality, instead of the higher quality knives and sword.

But he placed it at the back of his mind and didn't think of it for quite a while. No he would think about her later. Think about as to why she seemed so familiar to him. Why the big blue eyes of hers tickled the back of his mind. Why she could obviously handle weapons but dropped them carelessly. Why she had been sneaking around.

She was a puzzle that needed to be solved or else all would fall to pieces in her wake.

* * *

Bear with me, new readers. I know that this is not a very good chapter and I aknowledge it; I'm going to go back soon and re-edit it. But for now, I'm just leaving this note.

So, now we know who the boy in the forest was. Rhoswen knows too. But poor Tristran doesn't. All he knows is that she is going to tear everything apart. :)

I bid you all a good night and with out further ado,

Priestess


	4. Practice

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assasin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, unless I wrote it and it's not from the movie. I am not so cracked in the head as to believe I do. If you think that and wish to sue me, I suggest you take a long walk off of a short pier.

**Title is from Blood Rose for Legolas. Again, many thanks to Legolas IsMine!**

"_Woad's language"_

"Latin"

_Thoughts_

MedievalWarriorPrincess: It's OK, really. Oh I wouldn't have cared if it was sarcasm, I was just curious. What an amazingly long review! I think it tops some mine!

Yes just a tad too smart. Honestly, Rhoswen wanted to attack him right there but I wouldn't let her and had to restrain her so she didn't. :P

I love to guess too. I'm just not as good keeping it to myself… sometimes. I agree. If somebody told me I had to read every single story on this site, I would just die. I probably would die of old age before I read them all, including the incoming ones.

I'm not so much as worried as curious. I'm kinda curious as to which one 'Sarah' thinks it is very similar to. To be honest with you, I would just die of laughter if she thought it was wild-vixen's one with Zara the assassin (can't remember the title) because she's (wild-vixen) has been reading and reviewing this story. That's the only one that I know of that even is close to mine.

I was just going back and reading and found a major goof of mine. In the first chapter I said she had blue eyes… in the third brown! Ha, silly me. But now it's all better now.

Thank your for the precious llama. He is quite hot, really. :P Very sexy. :D And bison steaks too? You're just too good to me!  I probably should go to bed now, it's one o'clock in the morning. (!)

LegolasIsMine: Did I seriously say golden 'hair!' MEEP! Must go back and check 'cause it's supposed to be eyes. Yeah, I was aiming for the mysteriousnessishy type of writing, I'm glad to see it worked! You are a very clever person. Yes, it is the same person. I almost decided to lead people on and then change it to Lancelot or Galahad… but as you can see, I decided to try and simplify it… a little. Well you do have to be tricky if you've been an assassin for many years and survived. He does? Damn it. Well, now he has gold eyes:P Thanks a load for the reviews!

LANCELOTTRISTANBABY: Perhaps in time he will. Until then she will just have to continue to hate him without him receiving an answer. Here's your update. I hope it was soon enough.

wild-vixen: That's good, very good because then I'd have to go back and find another 100 different story and that would take me years! Hyper active imaginations are a good thing though. Really, they are! Where would we be without them? Indeed. sigh Yes Tristan is quite wonderful isn't he? clears throat Ahem. Anyways, thank you for all of the reviews!

Black Knight63: Thanks for the review. I wasn't planning on leaving it hanging, honest:D

Freethinker: Yeah, he seemed so…. Innocent and naïve in the movie. The reason it was so fast was that I had already written that chapter in my notebook when I had woken up with an idea. :D I don't foresee that happening again, but if I have a day off I think I'll get a chapter or two done. Many thanks for the review.

KnightMaiden: Thank you for the review! Thanks for posting in my forum. Damn right! Lol. Can't stray. Must stray from path. Ah! I can't. Yeah, I'm not the fastest of updaters either. Or at least usually. :D

Lady Dream Weaver: Thank you, I was wondering what it meant.

"_Everything that is really great and inspiring is created by the individual who can labor in freedom.__" _

**Albert Einstein**

* * *

He placed it at the back of his mind and didn't think of it for quite a while. No, he would think about her later. Think about why she seemed so familiar to him, why the big blue eyes of herstickled the back of his mind. Why she could obviously handle weapons but dropped them carelessly. Why she had been sneaking around. 

She was a puzzle that needed to be solved or else all would fall to pieces in her wake.

* * *

How true this would be proved.

After he had stabled her horse and escorted Aidan to her new room in another building near the tavern, Tristran climbed to the top of Hadrian's Wall and leaned against the stone wall, enjoying the cool Britainniabreeze.

His gold eyes closed and his uptight shoulders loosened as he slowly let himself relax. Usually when he was up here,he allowed himself relax; rarely didhe allow himself to not be on guard. It was his job to be alert and ready for danger at any moment.

He whistled sharply and loudly, attracting the attention of his hawk. She didn't have a name; to name her would be to tame her and whatever god there was- if there were any-knew he didn't want that. She was sweet as she was, anyways.

Tristran held out a gloved arm and the hawk perched there, ruffling her feathers and running her beak through his hair. He smiled slightly at her antics and she bobbed her head up and down as if to acknowledge the rare action from the scout.

Tristran had found her when she was just a youngling. She'd injured her right wing falling when she had tried to fly too early and would have died, had he not intervened. He had brought her back to his room and nursed her back to health. That had been four years ago when he was twenty-four, nine years into his service to Rome.

Rome. It was odd how one could hate a word so much. Rome had taken everything away from him. His family, his fellow knights and friends. Even Isolde and Branwaine had been taken away by Rome. His bloody horse had been one of the first that Rome had taken away. She'd fallen in a battle when he was seventeen--only two years into his service. He'd been serving Rome. If he hadn't, she would have been used for hunting and not much else; there was only a very small chance that aught could happen when hunting, wheras when you were the horse of a knight, you were in danger almost every day.

* * *

Last night, while surveying the knights, Rhoswen had missed one--Gawain's younger brother, Gareth. He looked even younger than Gawain and Galahad who were quite obviously the youngest of the knights. Gareth wasmayhap a year or two older than she. He was a feisty, if annoying, young man, though he could be sweet at times, or so she heard from the other women who worked at Hadrian's Wall.

It was a hot day, with the sun beaming down on them. Britain was strange like that: one day it was raining and snowing, the next roasting hot. She couldn't blame the knights forhating the weather; she herself was not toofond of it, and she had been born here!

When watching their fellows practice sword fighting, the knights sought the sanctuary of the trees, attempting to cool themselves off a bit. Strange it was: there were trees growing in the middle of the fortress courtyard.

For a moment, Rhoswen's eyes drifted over their bare chests appreciatively, taking in the tanned and chiseled midriffs. They were all either heavily or finely muscled, each suiting the owner's face. Galahad, Gareth and Tristran were slimmer than the others, andtheir faces more finely boned. Lancelot, Gawain and Arthur were in between the two extremes. Dagonet and Bors were both heavily muscled. But whether they were slim or bulky, they were _all _going to be unhappy tomorrow. Rhoswen could see signs of burning on their skin already, and the day was still young. She laughed to herself. It was hot outside, but it was their fault they were getting burned for they had taken their tunics off.

She leaned forward to watch intently, assessing the knights as they practiced, trying to see who was the most skilled at fighting, and who was the weakest.

Tristran's movements were calculated and calm. He, Lancelot and Arthur were by far the deadliest of the eight knights left. He possessed no battle rage all (which she noticed some of the others did), and neither was he consumed by false judgment that some of the others were at times. Not only that, but he missed nothing; no movements could be hidden from him.

Tristran and Gawain were dueling, as they had been for the last handful of minutes. Gawain wielded a short mace and a dagger while Tristran held a curved sword. Rhoswen eyed the weapon admiringly. She could never weild a sword like that; it obviously weighed a lot, and it wasof a strange design. The curvein the blade mad it look like it was difficult to fight with.

She hovered nearby, ready to give the knights wet cloths if they so desired. Her job thankfully gave her an excuse to be around them, to watch and analyze them as they fought.

Gawain lunged forward obviously wanting the fight to be over so that he could once again be in the shade, swinging the mace and attempting to sneak the knife around; Tristran was not fooled in the least by his comrade. He blocked them with one graceful arc, and used that movement to break through the other knight's defense. The others jeered at their friends from the shelter of the shade.

Tristran placed his sword on Gawain's exposed throat. He pushed slightly and Gawain's head tilted backwards so as to avoid being cut, golden hair spilling down his back, giving Tristran the power he desired. Gawain obviously understood Tristran and was seemed like he was friends with the enigmatic knight. He seemed like hehad no problem giving Tristran that power.

Rhoswen shivered a little. Tristran was purely feral, and it was a bit disturbing for her, for she had never encontered anybody who was as feral as he. Oh aye, he was one to be watched closely, lest he turn on her for the sheer pleasure of it. He already suspected her; she was sure of it. Rhoswen would have to be careful that she gave him no other hints. She hoped he did not remember her from the forest. That would prove to be a rather unwanted obstacle. It had been many years ago, and she prayed that she looked far different then she had then.

She turned her attention to Bors and Dagonet as they began to fight. Both used pure brute strength when fighting. By the Gods, it was brutal, yet also intriguing to the young woman;Rhoswen had never seen a fight quite like this. The two knights were literally hacking at each other, Dagonet using a huge axe and Bors a short sword.

Dagonet was graceful for a man of his size, as well as gentle and kind—at least, when he was not on the battlefield. Bors, on the other hand, was clumsy, loud and annoying, but most of his opponents would never live long enough to find that out. He relied on strength and the fact he would kill any Woads before they had a chance to take advantage of the openings he left.

When the fight finally ended with Bors' sword at Dagonet's throat, both were soaked. She held out wet and cold cloths for the two men and they nodded their thanks to her as they took them from her.

Next up were Galahad and Gareth. Both of them used Roman short swords. She snorted to herself. For men who loathed Rome, they seemed to have adapted very well. They had assimilated the weapons, the clothes, the women, the taverns--all of it.

The two youngest were the most delicate of the fighters. Gareth let his head rule the fight, so Rhoswen was surprised to see he had survived so long in his service to Rome. Out of one hundred, Gareth was one of the few who had lived this long. He must have a hidden talent when fighting that she had not yet picked up yet. Either that, or somebody had guarded his back very, very well. She hoped it was the latter. She didn't like being caught unawares.

Galahad was, in her eyes, a little girl. He fought like a bloody lady would. He never went in for the kill and waited to be on defense. She wondered how the two had possibly killed that many Woads.

After ten minutes of rather graceful fighting, Lancelot strode forward with a sigh. He was apparently annoyed at waiting.

The knight twirled his swords in his hands and Gareth groaned, and then traded looks with Galahad. The latter smirked slightly. Both lunged forward.

In a blur of motion, so fast that Rhoswen could barely make it out, the two younger knights had lost the battle to the senior one. Hmm--could life get any more complicated? In one motion, the man had been able to disarm two very experienced knights.

The girl assassin sighed. Lovely. Many amazing knights. And she'd yet to see Arthur. She couldn't believe that she was so surprised at this though. They survived fighting her people for twelve years.

Lancelot sent the two knights satisfied smirks. Grudgingly, Galahad grinned back; Gareth just sulked, obviously annoyed that he had, once again, lost to Lancelot. But shecould see some of his hesitence tosmile back; Lancelot was not a good winner.

Then Arthur finally rose from his place. Now she could see him fight. Good. This is what she had been waiting for. For the last hour or two he had just sat in the shade with his knights, laughing at and with them.

Arthur's face was calm as they circled, whereas Lancelot's was set with a feral grin. The commander lunged forward and the force of his bow made Lancelot step back several feet to deflect it without using too much energy. Energy could not be wasted like that on a day like this.

"Come on, Arthur; is that all?" said Lancelot. His friend grinned savagely and lunged forward once more.

This time Lancelot was ready and he trapped the blade in between his crossed swords. With a smug smile, he kicked Arthur's legs out from underneath him; the knights jeered at Arthur's quick loss to Lancelot. "Are you all right?" Lancelot said mockingly.

"Nothing hurt but my pride," he said with a smile that would have done his religion's devil proud. His sword lay forgotten near him. When Lancelot offered Arthur a hand after transferring the blade in that hand to the other, the latter pulled the Sarmatian down and the two began to wrestle.

Rhoswen frowned to herself. This mission was going to be far more difficult than she had been led to believe. Not only was Arthur unlike the typical Roman, but his knights would obviously lay down their lives for him.

After losing to the Roman, Lancelot slunk off to talk with the others, Arthur following closely.

"Cloth, sir knight?" Rhoswen questioned the handsome Sarmatian. Lancelot took it with a smile and wink. Should she have been any other woman, she probably would have gone weak in the knees. She was not a typical serving girl, however. She was here to kill this man's best friend and she'd best not forget it.

"What's your name, girl?" Lancelot asked.

"Aidan, milord."

"In my language it means "fiery," Lancelot said with a grin. She dimpled, and he positively preened. Her eyes narrowed. _I'll have to do something about that,_ she thought.

"And in my language your name means 'pretty flower,'" she returned. It meant no such thing, but the expression on his face was well worth it. The others roared with laughter at him. Obviously, Lancelot not immediately winning a woman to bed was a rare occasion. Even Arthur sent her an amused look and a smile.

"I'll have her in my bed within this week." she overheard Lancelot saying. She snorted to herself. _Not while I still have breath in my body!_ The girl assassin masked her feelings and her eyes raked up his body, assessing him, letting him know that she'd heard him.

And so she spent her days: waiting on the knights, and carrying out their every whim. And finally, after ten days had passed, she decided to carry out her plans.

* * *

Please, please review! 

Priestess


	5. Assassin!

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, unless I wrote it and it's not from the movie. I am not so cracked in the head as to believe I do. If you think that and wish to sue me, I suggest you take a long walk off of a short pier.

**_Attention all! I am holding the Tristran Awards (link is here:http/ and I would love you forever if you nominated a story or volunteered to judge. Even if you don't, feedback on the website would be wonderful! Thanks. Now onto the story!_**

**I HAVE CONSULTED WITCH OF EASTWICK AND SHE HAS LOOKED OVER THIS CHAPTER! GOT IT? THAT MEANS I DIDN'T COPY HER, SO IF I GET SHIT OVER THIS CHAPTER, I WON'T BE A VERY HAPPY GIRL.**

speech"  
_thoughts _if in a paragraph. Can be emphasis if only a word.  
_flashback _if in it's own paragraph

_

* * *

"'Cause there are these nights when  
I sing myself to sleep  
And I'm hopin' my dreams  
Bring you close to me  
Are you listening?" _

-Kelly Clarkson, "Hear Me"

Rhoswen eyed Lancelot out of the corner of her eyes as he dueled with his best friend, Commander Artorius Castus of Rome and Britain. Yes, Lancelot would be the easiest to seduce, next to Gawain. His pride led him to believe that a woman deciding to sleep with him was not suspicious. But then, giving into his "charms" would be stroking Lancelot's ego, and every bloody person in the entire fort knew that it didn't need to grow any more.

Galahad and Gareth terrified her, despite the two being rather attractive. They were so young and innocent, yet a few years older than her. They clung to memories of home so tightly, and she had given _that _up many years ago. The two were so full of hope, it almost made her sick. Besides, Rhoswen didn't want to disturb herself before business. The job would be far harder to do, and she already needed every ounce of cunning, strength and luck to finish what she'd started.

Bors was unofficially promised to a barmaid named Vanora, a pretty woman of about twenty some odd years. She'd found this out by listening to the knights talk. No matter how nonchalant Bors had tried to sound, Rhoswen knew when a person was in love.

If she seduced Arthur, (even if his religion allowed it), she'd be blamed for his death, (for she would be the last person into his room), and she didn't want that before she could escape.

Dagonet didn't attract her in the least bit, and she supposed that as she was going to have to sleep with one of the knights to gain access to their part of the building, she might as well get as much pleasure as she could out of it. She'd rather sleep with Galahad or Gareth and be frightened than sleep with the gentle and kind giant.

Tristran was off limits by far. He was far too aware for his own good. Besides, he wouldn't be one to stay in the same room for the entire night, she realized from observing him. Or sleep through it for that matter, leaving her with no time to sneak out. He'd also probably see the brand and recognize the slave collar for what it was.

Her final option was Gawain. He was big, fierce and kind. So kind, she almost found it hard to think she would be hurting him because she was using him to kill their friend. When she'd thought about it at first, the girl had almost cried at the pain she would cause him. Then she reminded herself they'd been killing her people for many years and her mother was far more important.

Rhoswen didn't find Gawain exceedingly attractive, though he was handsome, but that was because he wasn't much to her tastes. She found Lancelot and Tristran more to her visual liking, but that only lasted until the former opened his mouth.

So it was back to Lancelot. Gawain or Lancelot? Lancelot or Gawain? She stood there, so deep in thought, that she missed Gawain's question.

"I said, your parents were killed last week?" Rhoswen lowered her eyes as they filled with tears.

"Yes, Sir Gawain," she said quietly, raising her blue and watery eyes to meet his own dry and brown ones. She could mostly make out his features in the quickly darkening British sky. His blond hair was tousled from a days work, reminding her slightly of a big cat.

"It saddens me to hear of your loss," he replied, "though I myself have not seen my parents for quite a while now."

"Aye, lass, we all haven't seen our parents for many years now. Buck up! It'll get easier as time goes on," said Bors comfortingly. She smiled slightly. For such a big, gruff and crude man, he really could be sweet at times.

"I'm sorry for that, my lords." And she honestly was. "And thank you for your kindness and sympathy. It is very much appreciated."

"Enough of this depressing talk of home," said Lancelot charmingly. "The weather is dreary enough without all of this!" He flashed Aidan a grin, looking her up and down.

She wasn't that bad looking, decided the curly-haired knight. The girl had brown hair that curled down her neck and seemed to constantly annoy her. He agreed with her on the annoyance of hair as he was always pushing his own out of the way.

While her bosom wasn't as ample as many of the barmaid's, her innocence was intriguing. Her wide blue eyes gave a feeling of a fragile, frightened young deer. Tristran had warned them to watch her.

The knight snorted to himself. Not anyone had called him a "pretty flower" so far in his life. No female had dared to insult him, either. To insult a knight meant she was brave. But dangerous? Never. He had never seen a person so clumsy, (with the exception of Bors.)

The blue eyes he'd been evaluating met his, and he knew she'd been assessing him too.

Gawain groaned good naturedly to Bors on their way back to the main building from the practice yards. They'd been there the whole day, and it had already begun to darken. "Bloody hell, Bors! Nothing interesting has been happening during these damnable last couple of weeks! I'm almost starting to wish that it was Woad season!"

Rhoswen smirked to herself. That was going to change tonight. To all of the people present's immense surprise, Tristran replied to the man.

"Of course, Gawain, Gareth trying to murder you a week ago was an event totally devoid of any significance at all," he said dryly, glancing sideways at his friend through the mat of his hair as Gawain chuckled. Gareth huffed and glared at the man.

_It was a terrible day. Depressing really. Gareth felt it and the others felt it. Even Gawain, Dagonetand Arthur were in a foul mood._

_Rhoswen herself was feeling a little under the weather as well. It was cloudy, humid and hot. Extremely hot. And it was cloudy enough make the sky grey. Humid enough to seem like it was going to rain, but not enough moisture in the air to actually do so._

_Gareth and Gawain circled each other. Gawain blocked the blows with ease, never following up on the openings that Gareth's weary and half-hearted slashs leftand it was almost like he was toying with the younger man. She glanced at the junior knight's face and realized that Gawain indeed was playing with him. _

_Gareth didn't appreciate it. With a roar, Gareth swung with all his might at Gawain's head, hoping, at that moment, that he would kill Gawain. On such a sluggish day however, the force of the swing was probably about half of its normal force._

_Gawain dodged it, and the sword was at Gareth's throat in an instant. He stared calmly at the latter._

_Tristran's eyes whipped from watching his two brothers in arms around to Aidan; she had watched the fight appreciatively. In that instant, he knew with total certainty that she _was _dangerous. That he was sure of. No inexperienced person would actually analyze such a fight as that one. _

_He'd already talked to the others and warned them, but they'd laughed it off like he was paranoid. No, he was on his own. Now, all he had to do was wait for her to make her move._

Rhoswen trailed the men and sighed. _Damn it! Now is _not _the time to develop a conscience! _The assassin cursed to herself. She couldn't do it to Gawain; Lancelot it was.

As the men headed towards their rooms, Lancelot turned and grinned at Aidan. "Join me, Aidan, m'dear?" He'd asked it of her every night before bed, even though he normally had a wench with them. By now he'd given up, and was just teasing her.

However, to his great surprise, he found himself meeting big blue eyes that seemed to be debating something. She searched his eyes and then nodded, and kissed him, filling it with promise.

He returned it, recovering from the shock.

All of the knights stared at her in utter surprise. Aidan had held out against his charms so long that they had thought that she was immune to them. Apparently she wasn't. For some reason, it annoyed many of the knights present. Lancelot was always boasting of his "adventures" with every single lady in the fortress.

They watched the pair amble to Lancelot's room. Arthur shook his head. Tristran was immediately suspicious. Galahad, Gawain and Gareth were irked for some reason. Dagonet was concerned for her as she seemed to be such a fragile girl and he wasn't sure how she would handle the man leaving her. Bors just watched them with a lewd grin.

* * *

A commotion in the room next to theirs brought the knights running, all in various states of undress, weapons in hand. 

In the hallway was Gareth, lying in a pool of blood, eyes glassy and sightless, and all signs of the feisty young man gone; his throat was cleanly ripped open.

A strangled cry escaped Galahad's mouth. He dropped to the ground beside his brother, not caringabout the blood around them. To lose the remainder of his memories of home! To lose his other brother! "Gareth!" he whispered desperately, hoping that somehow his brother lived. "Brother, come on! Don't leave me alone like Gaheris did! Please…" he begged of the other knight. He received no answer but the mocking whispers from the echoes of his words. All around him the knights were silent.

With vengeance in his eyes, he thrust open Arthur's door, and entered, the other's trailing behind him.

What they came upon was a strange sight. Arthur with Excalibur pointed at… a girl?

Crimson was spreading across the left shoulder of their commander's linen shirt. She held a dagger and short sword in her hands, and the dagger was dripping with blood; no one doubted it was Arthur's and Gareth's.

"Aidan?" gasped Galahad.

* * *

Again… **I HAVE CONSULTED WITCH OF EASTWICK AND SHE HAS LOOKED OVER THIS CHAPTER! I KNOW THEY'RE SIMILAR, BUT I HAVE NOT COPIED HER! AGAIN, SHE HAS APPROVED IT! GOT IT? THAT MEANS I DIDN'T COPY HER, SO IF I GET SHIT OVER THIS CHAPTER, I WON'T BE A VERY HAPPY GIRL. :D **

**_Attention all! I am holding the Tristran Awards (link is here:http/ and I would love you forever if you nominated a story or volunteered to judge. Even if you don't, feedback on the website would be wonderful too! If this link doesn't show up, I've provided a link in my profile, and my homepage is also the link. Thanks. _**

I think that probably next chapter (or the one after), we'll learn about her mother…

Originally I wasn't gonna, but I decided that I had to kill Gareth. I was in a terribly vicious mood today. Don't forget to review, you guys!

Priestess


	6. Threats

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, unless I wrote it and it's not from the movie. I am not so cracked in the head as to believe I do. If you think that and wish to sue me, I suggest you take a long walk off of a short pier.

* * *

"Aidan?" gasped Galahad in a strangled voice. 

"No, of course not!" she answered with a charming wink. "I'm a figment of your imagination; you're just dreaming." Her reply was calm enough, but inwardly she was crying. Crying for the opportunity that had just slipped through her fingers. Crying for her mother's lost chance of freedom. _Mama, I failed you! _she wailed inwardly._ I'm sorry. Forgive me, Mama! _

"What are you doing here?" demanded Gawain incredulously, lines of shock etched all over his face. He fought the urge to rub his tired eyes. He was sure he was dreaming. That's what it was. A bad dream. A terrible one. His eyes flicked over to the broken Galahad.

"Arthur invited me a bit of tea, can't you see?" Aidan demanded, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She rolled her azure eyes scornfully. "Scout, I know you're there," the assassin added, hearing a slight sound caused from motion behind her.

Tristran had managed to get behind her. "Drop them right now!" snarled Tristran, venom lacing his accented voice. Though he kept his tone lowered; the threat was evident. Emotionless he might be, but he considered the Roman to be his friend, and nobody, _nobody_, hurt one of his friends if he had any say in it.

In a lightning quick motion, she spun around, lunging for him and slashing with her knife. Only a quick reaction on the scout's part saved him from losing his hand. A dagger of his own was at her throat in an instant, his hand threaded in her hair, while her sword was pointed at his heart.

"Drop them!" Gawain ordered fiercely. Aidan assessed the situation and then complied, realizing it was hopeless to fight her way out. She was going to have to rely on cunning. The sword and dagger clanged against the stone ground, and she winced slightly, Gawain noted with more than a bit of disgust. It seemed that she cared more for her weapons than she did for a life.

Lancelot came flying into the room, hair mussed, sleep in his eyes, and swords in his hands.

"Ahh…and so the pretty flower finally makes an entrance!" she snapped, disdain evident. He stared at her in utter shock, eyes widening as he realized just who she was.

"Aidan?" he question, not quite comprehending the situation at hand. She may have looked like Aidan, but this was not the same girl he had come to know during the past weeks.

"No, Vanora!" The girl received looks saying her sarcasm wasn't appreciated. "Yes, you fools. Aidan!" she snapped, admiring her fingernails calmly, though quickly losing interest in the boring pastime. She slapped at the hand which had a painful grip on her hair (causing him to let go), and then decided to provoke Tristran--that would be a much more entertaining activity. Aidan had always wondered if she would be able to crack that calm exterior, and now was the perfect chance.

The assassin thrust her face towards Tristran's until their noses were almost touching. Tristran's hand did not give, and the blade opened a small cut on her throat, just above her collar bone, dribbling blood and nearly slicing her throat open. The crimson liquid was a sharp contrast to the creamy pale of her skin.

"Well, go on then! Kill me. Rid the world of me, my dear. I'm sure you would love do it," she said in a sickeningly sweet and persuasive tone. Tristran withdrew the knife slowly and cautiously, and as he did so, she licked her blood off the silver blade. The metal was cool against her warm tongue. Her eyes never left his. She proceeded to lick her lips as though it were a most satisfactory and delicious meal. Lancelot shuddered slightly in absolute disgust. If Tristran disturbed them at times, it was nothing compared to the sight in front of him. Aidan gave a chilling laugh at his discomfort. All traces of the sweet and meek girl that they had come to know were gone.

"You heard the damned bitch!" cried Galahad, hungry for her blood, for revenge. "Kill her, damn you!" he snarled when he saw that Tristran hadn't made a move to slit her throat. She stuck her bloodied tongue out, enjoying the effect that she had on the young knight. "Kill her!" he hissed, fists clenching at his side until his knuckles turned white, distraught over Gareth's death and enraged that no one was moving to punish his brother's murderer. 'Kill her!' Aidan mouthed mockingly, mimicking him. 'Kill her! Kill her. Oh, I'm shaking with fear in my boots.' She sneered at the hurt man before her. "Avenge Gareth, damn it! Don't you care that he died? _Kill her_!" shouted Galahad.

Galahad lunged for her, deciding that if nobody else would kill her, then he would, and if he had to do it with his bare hands, then so be it. Aidan fought back a surge of regret and sympathy. _Is this how the families of my victims react? _she thought, far more than a little shocked and saddened, and with more than some hints of disgust. _Damn it! _she cried to herself. _I didn't even know these damned men! This is to save my bloody _mother

Gawain managed to hold Galahad back, though he struggled to do so and needed to wrap his arms securely around the other's chest. He whispered words of comfort into Galahad's dark and unruly hair, and hugged him as though he were a young child. Galahad slumped backwards into his brother-in-arm's embrace, choking back the flood of tears that threatened to spill over, in spite of him being quite a tough young man. Gawain himself fought back tears as well, though they were mostly for the younger knight. Galahad was only twenty, and yet his two brothers had been killed within a few years.

Tristran went to bind her hands together with a strip of an old but thick and tough shirt, torn apart by Gawain. Aidan hissed at him angrily as he went to bind her hands, snapping at his hand. There was a brief struggle, but he won by sheer strength. She thrust her nose into the air arrogantly and loftily after he had finished tying the knot.

"Galahad do not kill her!" snapped Arthur, and then winced as Dagonet looked over and prodded the wound on his chest. When Dagonet withdrew his fingers from the wound, his fingers were stained red.

"You are a very lucky man, Arthur; if she had stabbed you but a finger width to the left, she would have had your heart," the knight said slowly, using some of the few healing skills he had, after examination, somewhat impressed with the girl's talent, though he didn't let it show.

"Pity," she said, sneering and smirking at him uncaringly. Arthur ignored the girl and turned to Tristran.

"For the sake of my fellow commanders, we must find out who she works for, so as to stop another attack. If we don't know who's behind this, we will be unable to stop any similar attempts on the lives of the other commanders."

"Well, that will be difficult, for I work alone," she replied calmly, covering up for Maunrus. Perhaps if she concealed who she worked for then he'd let her mother go. Rhoswen was _not _going to fail her mother like she had failed… she pushed that thought away, along with the hurt that went with it.

"Indeed you do," said Arthur sarcastically, wincing and groaning slightly as Dagonet bound the wound, "and that means I'm a bloody wall!"

"Perhaps you are, for you sleep so deeply!" she said.

"What a tragedy it is that you did not realize I was sleeping," he said sarcastically. "You, unfortunately, you have terrible aim!"

"Oh well, my dear Artorius Castus. I guess I'll just have to try again! Perhaps tomorrow night would be a better night," she snarled back. She had failed. To provoke these men meant death, and death was a more than welcome punishment.

She was dragged to her cell.

"Such lovely accommodations; they are fit for Artorius himself," she said sarcastically to Lancelot. He ignored her and strode out, leaving her with only the rats for company.

* * *

Arthur cursed to himself, which was quite unusual for the man. She couldn't have been over seventeen or eighteen, and yet she already had the thick, protective shield about herself that was characteristic of someone who had seen too much cruelty. He paced about restlessly, despite Dagonet informing him that if he didn't rest then he'd hurt himself more. 

Up in the stable loft was a good place to think, for it was calm and quiet, so he trudged there.

He sat on the loft, uncaring of the hay that was undoubtedly finding crevices in his breeches to lurk until later when they would begin to itch. He placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands.

She hated Tristran with a passion. That much was obvious. But why did she hate him? She'd known his scout only for about a fortnight, perhaps even less. Some hated (but most just feared) his blood-lust and unfriendliness… but she herself loved to spill blood. That had been shown the previous night. As for unfriendliness, she was not one to point any fingers about being hostile.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. This was _not _what he needed at the moment. Couldn't he have _one _bloody quiet month without _any _complications? _Of course not. _Damn it! Now he was holding a conversation with himself. Arthur sighed again (which he seemed to be doing a lot within the last day).

Artorius was going to have to allow Tristran to torture her if she was unwilling to give them information. He rose, brushing straw off his breeches.

* * *

Rhoswen calculated she'd been in the cell for at least two days when Arthur, Galahad and Lancelot arrived. She cocked an eyebrow to this. _Three _knights? 

She ignored every question posed to her, refusing to acknowledge their presence while pointedly staring at the wall. Lancelot left, leaving his commander, Galahad and the assassin to stare each other down while the second in command fetched Tristran.

With one look at Tristran, she knew Lancelot's threats had not been lies: the scout was going to enjoy himself, and he was going to be utterly brutal.

She jumped to her feet and bowed mockingly, sparing her torturers-to-be the effort of making her stand up. "Greetings, dear scout. So you have come to amuse yourself, I see." Arthur's upper lip curled in ill-contained disgust.

Tristran approached menacingly, but calmly, no weapons drawn. Aidan turned her attention to the Roman, rather than let the knights see the fear that was hidden (but still there) in her eyes.

"Look, Artorius… can I call you Arthur? Well, too bad, I'll call you Arthur anyway. I know that you find it extremely terrifying to face a seventeen-year-old girl, (who has no weapons, by the way) with three armed knights at your back. I'm touched. Really, I am. You do me a great honor. But I beg of you to summon your courage and face me," she drawled.

"Who gave you the order to kill me?" Arthur demanded again, stalking up to her until he was about a few feet from her.

"Nobody," she snapped in annoyance. "Are you deaf? I've already told you this!"

"Why do you kill? Why do you obey him? What happened? Why do you choose to live such a life?" asked Arthur, almost gently. Almost.

She let out a bitter bark of laughter that was impossible to associate with any sort or humor, morbid or not. "Why, you ask me? _Why_?" she spat, her eyes dull. "Do you truly want to know why I kill, why I obey him? Do you want to know the truth? Do you? Well, I cannot answer you, for even I myself do not possess the knowledge of why I eat, why I sleep, why I dream, why I walk, or why I breathe, even. There is no point to it all. No point at all, and no reason to live except for that of the kill. The only thing in my life that I _do _know for certain is that death could be no worse than the life I am living right now." Her blue eyes bored into his own brown ones, chilling him to the bone until she broke his gaze to walk away as she was lost in thought.

* * *

I understand that this is also like Witch of Eastwick's chapter (I acknowledge that), but I have not copied her. So if I get shit, I won't be a very happy girl. This is the last chapter that even near resembles hers. It's gonna veer off in an entirely different direction. 

Anyways, please review! And check out my Tristran Awards! The link is my homepage, and at the very end of my profile. I would post the link, but alas, this evil website does not allow us to write links in chapters or reviews. What's with that, anyways?

Priestess


	7. Taunts

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intend to make any money from this, and neither do I intend on infringing on any copyrights

Thanks to:_ the sarahnater, LegolasIsMine, LANCELOTTRISTANBABY, Skystrike26, Randomization, FreeThinker, wild-vixen,_ and_ Darcylover._

"Look, Artorius…can I call you Arthur? Well, too bad, I'll call you Arthur anyway. I know that you find it extremely terrifying to face a seventeen-year-old girl (who has no weapons, by the way), with three armed knights at your back. I'm touched. Really, I am. You honor me greatly. But I beg of you to summon your courage and face me," she drawled.

"Who gave you the order to kill me?" Arthur demanded again, stalking up to her until he was only a few feet from her.

"Nobody," she snapped in annoyance. "Are you deaf, man? I've already told you this!"

"Why do you kill? Why do you obey him? What happened? Why do you choose to live such a life?" asked Arthur, almost gently. Almost.

She let out a bitter bark of laughter that was impossible to associate with any sort or humor, morbid or not. "Why, you ask? _Why_?" she spat, eyes dull. "Do you truly want to know why? Well, I cannot answer you, for I do not possess the knowledge of why I eat, why I sleep, why I dream, why I walk, why I breathe, even. There is no point, and no reason to live except for that of the kill. The only thing I _do _know for certain is that death could be no worse than the life I am living." Her blue eyes bored into his own brown ones, chilling him until she broke his gaze to walk away.

Arthur looked away, saddened.

"However, I was thinking more about how you ended up as a _Sarmatian _Commander. After all, Sarmatian things are pretty—with the exception of Bors, of course. I mean …" she said thoughtfully, trying to draw the men away from that subject. Abrupt topic changes when facing torture usually bought a few minutes to work the situation out.

"What?" he questioned, somewhat curiously, unable to keep himself from asking her.

Aidan smirked at him, and it was not a pretty expression. "I mean, you are quite an ugly man, Arthur. You are also a fool. You look like a particularly ugly parasite crossed with some other random, repulsive animal," she explained patiently as though he were but a little boy. "Galahad and Gareth—oh wait, he's dead—"

Galahad gave a howl of despair and utter anger. It took the full strength of two knights to restrain him, and even then he came dangerously close to murdering her. His strength was not only the result of many long years of battle, but was fueled by anger and grief as well. Aidan didn't even blink.

Arthur rubbed his head tiredly. _We should have brought Gawain instead of Galahad, _he thought. He'd been opposed to Galahad accompanying them, but the junior knight had been quite adamant about coming. Even as his commanding officer, Arthur felt that he really had had no choice. Lancelot was doing a good job of calming him down, however.

Aidan watched as Lancelot spoke to Galahad, his tone low enough that she couldn't make out what he was saying. Galahad was obviously distraught over his brother's death; he was so upset that he was at the point of nearly crying. The knowledge that Galahad would mourn the loss of his brother upset her greatly. Who would cry for the death of an assassin? Who would mourn her death? Who would even care? Would anybody feel anything when she died? That hurt her more than anything the knights could ever do to her.

Tristran sat back, quietly considering, as the other knights continued to console Galahad. While they did so Aidan spoke up again. "So it's just Galahad who reminds me of a stupid fish," she continued, hoping the men before her would not realize how to break her. "Gawain is the dog of you knights. No, never mind that. I lied about that one. He resembles more of a big cat, I suppose. I guess that would make Dagonet the ever loyal dog, Tristran the ever lonesome wolf, Bors the, erm... well…" She paused to think for a moment. "…The ever drunk drunkard and Lancelot the ever idiotic pig." She cocked her head to the side, hair spilling down her back. "Of course, now that I have looked at you this way, I could probably say that you resemble some sort of pig. Pretty much like our dear Lancelot here." She gestured to the rather annoyed knight who was turning a deep pink with anger--much like the animal she had described him to be.

Tristran's lip curled in slight amusement. Her way of distracting the other three knights was actually somewhat amusing.

"Stop with the tricks, girl. They won't work; your desperation really is pitiful, and it is wasting our time." The girl was good at provoking his fellow knights. He'd have to give her that.

She tilted her head again. "On _you_, Knight, they don't work," she corrected haughtily. "So, any more questions? _New _ones?" added Aidan. Tristran assessed her; she was just like her name. He smirked slightly, having worked out how to confirm that she worked for another.

"Why do you obey your master like a trained and beaten dog?" They watched her carefully for any reaction to Tristran's words.

"He is _not _my _master_!" she spat, blue eyes alight with anger. She balled her fists tightly. "I am not a dog to listen to his every beck and call like you fools heel to Rome!" The girl-assassin shut her mouth abruptly after realizing that she had fallen for his trick. She glowered at him, but he just stared coldly at her, no expression on his face. No joy, no disgust, no satisfaction, nothing.

"Who ordered you to kill Arthur?" snapped Lancelot, impatient with all of her stalling.

"How many damn times are you going to ask me that stupid question, Lancelot? You're not going to get a damned answer from me!" She crossed her arms stubbornly, refusing to meet their gazes. She stared at the grey stone walls around her.

"As many as it takes," Arthur said. "I am a very patient man, Aidan. I can do this forever. But I shall ask you another question. Are you so willing to face torture for a man for whom you obviously hold no respect? Are you willing to die for him?"

"That's none of your business, now is it?" she cried, exasperated.

"Actually, it is. It would be a lot less painful if you just told us everything."

She offered her hands to be bound in reply, which they ignored. "Maybe. Just get along with it; I'm going to die of old age at this rate."

"Who gave the order?" Tristran prowled around her like she was the prey and he the wolf.

Silence.

He hit her on the face. Hard. "Ass," she muttered as she probed the area experimentally.

"Who ordered you to kill Arthur?"

"Go away, Scout. I am not going to tell you anything."

He dealt her a fearsome blow, and this time she cried out. He had struck her face hard enough that the vision in her left eye was blurred.

"Who ordered you to kill Arthur?"

His question was once again met with silence. This time he slapped her twice, using no restraint. She stumbled backwards, and fell hard with a grunt of pain. But Aidan still kept her tone even and nonchalant. "You are doing a good job of using your imagination, dear knight. Really, your torture is so…bland. I could almost fall asleep. I must say, you disappoint me, Tristran. Really, you do."

Despite her calm exterior, Rhoswen's mind whirled as she considered everything that could be done with Arthur's generosity. She sat on the ground in silence with her chin propped on her hands and knees. The knights stared at her, puzzled at her reaction, for it certainly was not what they had expected from her.

Losing patience again, Lancelot moved to kick her, but Arthur waved him off. Aidan was obviously contemplating something. And it looked important. Finally, she sighed, rose wearily, and walked to the corner of the cell. She studied the wall, determination showing on her face. Finally, she said, "I have terms; I want something in return for giving you the information. Two things, actually."

"Why does this not surprise me?" muttered Lancelot. Arthur shot him a look that silenced him before turning back to Aidan, his shock evident.

"I shall see what I can do, Aidan. What do you want?"

"Besides my life, obviously, I want protection from his other assassins, and I want my mother to be rescued from him."

"Your mother?" questioned Arthur, not quite comprehending it. Oh, he knew what she meant. But how could she know that her mother indeed was captured?

"Yes, you fool, my mother! The bastard has her. Why else do you think that I obey him 'like a trained and beaten dog?' Because I enjoy it? No. Because I love him? No. Because he pays me? No. I hold no love for him, nor he for me. He does not pay me; he provides me with only food, weapons, shelter, and assignments. But I do what I do well, and there are times he seeks to pacify me with more than threats to my mother's life. "

"As I said, Aidan, I shall see what I can do. I must, however, discuss this with the rest of my knights before I make a decision. They are part of this as well." Arthur fought the urge to rub his head. This was going to be a long, long night.

She waved him off with an arrogant flick of her hand, which Lancelot thought to be one of the most conceited things a person could do—especially a person in _her _position. "Do whatever you wish. I care not. Take your time; it is far safer in here than in my room."

"Very well," he said.

"Oh, and Arthur?" He turned around so that he could see her better.

"Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"Thank you." He gave a slight start at her words. The expression on her face was one of the most genuine he had seen her wear. This was not the assassin they had been dealing with earlier. This was the true Aidan.

"Your fate has yet to be decided; do not thank me now." With that, he strode out, Lancelot and Galahad following him. The half-Roman turned to face his scout. "Are you coming or not, Tristran?"

"You know where I stand," he said simply. Arthur nodded curtly, and spun on his heel to continue to walk to the Round Table.

When the door was closed, Tristran moved to her side. She gave him a wary look, not trusting him in the least.

"How does it feel, girl? How does it feel to see us mourn Gareth's death, and to know that nobody will _ever _feel such pain when you die?" he hissed.

Aidan gave a great sob, and Tristran stalked several paces away but continued to watch her, a feral look of cruel satisfaction on his face. As always, he was observant, and he somehow knew that his words would affect her more than any sword or knife would.

She dashed away her tears angrily. His thoughts flew to his sister as he watched her cry and Tristran felt a momentary pang of regret; she was not much older than Shendan would be. Shendan had never liked being "weak" as his sister had put it. Shendan had hated crying, and had always been upset when he had walked in on her crying.

"Well," Aidan snapped, "how does it make _you _feel to know that you could have prevented Gareth's death?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Arthur's wound, Gareth's death… it's all _your _fault."

Tristran's golden eyes narrowed in confusion. What was she talking about? She sneered at him. "Figure it out; that's all I'll tell you, you bastard. Go ahead!" she continued as he raised his hand to strike her. "Hit me. Punish me. Hurt me. I care not."

He lowered his hand, angry with himself for having almost lost control of his emotions. This had been a confusing day, and he had a feeling that his life would never be so simple any more.


	8. Salvation?

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

* * *

When the door was closed, Tristran moved to her side. She gave him a wary look, not trusting him in the least. "How does it feel, girl? How does it feel to see us mourn Gareth's death, and to know that nobody will _ever _feel such pain when you die?" he hissed. Aidan gave a great sob, and he stalked away, a feral look of cruel satisfaction on his face. As always, he was observant, and he somehow knew that his words would affect her more than any sword or knife would. 

She dashed away her tears angrily. His thoughts flew to his sister as he watched her cry and Tristran felt a momentary pang of regret; she was not much older than Shendan would be. "Well," she snapped, "how does it make _you _feel to know that you could have prevented his death?" Aidan gave a bitter laugh. "Arthur's wound, Gareth's death… it's all _your _fault." His golden eyes narrowed in confusion. What was she talking about? She sneered at him. "Figure it out; that's all I'll tell you, you bastard." He raised his hand. "Go ahead. Hit mean. Punish me. Hurt me. I care not." He lowered his hand, angry at himself that he had almost lost control of his emotions.

This had been a confusing day, and he had a feeling that his life would never be so simple any more.

_

* * *

Damn it, Arthur though to himself after they had been debating on the topic of what to do with her for a long time, and he was growing very weary. They had been discussing it for most the past hour to be exact. He turned his attention back to what was being said. With a sigh, he sat back in the ornate wooden chair, not joining in the argument before him. All of the men before him were torn on the dilemma that had been placed before them. All wanted Gareth to be revenged, but all also felt pity for the young woman. _

"We've already gone over this," sighed Gawain impatiently. "What she can tell us is valuable. I don't give a damn about the Romans dieing or not, but if her 'master' sends another assassin, how can we stop the next attack on Arthur? She may have killed Gareth, and we should honor him, but he's dead. The dead are dead, and we cannot reverse that. Torturing her will not bring him back. Killing her will not bring him back. Gareth would want us to do what is best for Arthur's life, and damn it Galahad, you _know this!_"

"He is right, you know," came Tristran's accented voice from the shadows. "I like it not. I'm sure that none of us in this room like it, but we cannot take back the past. We _must _move forward and do what is best." He moved forward so that all his brothers-in-arms could see him better. His face was still darkened by the shadows, though he was more visible than he had been a moment ago.

"Oh?" snapped Galahad, all his anger coming forth. He clenched the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. "Was it _your _brother that was killed by her? Was it?" Tristran's eyes narrowed. Galahad and Tristran had never been the best of friends, and all the tension between them was beginning to emerge. A fight between the two would not be pretty, and it seemed at that moment that they were both spoiling for a fight.

"He was my friend too!" snapped Tristran, finally expressing his pent up emotions. "You are acting like a spoilt brat! Do you not think that we mourn as well? Do you not think that he was our friend too?"

"She too, has lost a loved one," interrupted their commander hastily. They turned their attention back to him. Bors, Dagonet and Gawain glanced at him curiously, to which he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head that said the story would be saved for another day when they knew the whole story. "She too serves a cause not her own. I do not seek to excuse it. I do not seek to defend it. Merely, I seek to bring forth all points of view that must be taken into consideration," Arthur intervened calmly, despite all of the emotions that were rising in him. Among those emotions were pain, guilt, anger, impatience, and pity. "A vote now, my loyal knights. Those in favor of letting her live, protecting her, and freeing her mother, raise your hands."

Aidan's head snapped up to see the knights enter. "So soon? Well?" she asked impatiently, eager to know the decision that was made about whether she should be allowed to live or not, and if they were willing to provide her with protection.

Arthur let his breath out. "You may live," he said. She raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing sarcastic. "We have agreed to protect you, and, if it is not a suicide mission, rescue your mother. However, you must first provide us with some information that we can easily verify."

"Thank you, Knights of the Round Table. May I ask one last favor from you, Arthur?" Arthur grunted in askance. "Leave Galahad and me in this room alone. Just the two of us. Alone." Arthur turned to the knight in question, an unasked question in his eyes. Galahad nodded curtly, wondering warily what she wanted with him that could not be said in the company of his brothers-in-arms. For a moment he had toyed with the idea of refusing her request, just to spite her, but his natural curiosity won out.

As they left once again, Gawain shot Galahad and Aidan a look of absolute confusion. In fact, all of the knights were confused and curious as to what she wanted.

Aidan and Galahad stood in silence, not knowing what to say one another. Galahad supposed he should attack her. Yell at her. Ask her why. Anything. But he was too emotionally wrought to bother with it. All he did was fold his muscular arms and lean his lithe body against the cold stone wall… waiting.

She gulped, and paced nervously, not daring to look at the man she had wronged. "I-" She stopped and swallowed again. "Look, Galahad, I-" Once again she could not summon the courage to speak to him. Aidan could taunt seven armed knights, but she could not bring herself to speak to one nearly unarmed knight? Mentally she shook her head. It made no sense. No sense at all.

Aidan walked over to him, and stood in front of him. That brought him out of his almost trance like state, and he growled. Galahad swiftly dealt her two strong blows to the face. She did not cry out. She did not cry. She did not wince. Rather, she accepted her punishment willingly and calmly. All his anger poured forth into his vicious attack, and soon his blows became fiercer and fiercer. It was all she could do to not fall over, weeping with the pain that his blows caused her.

When he finally stopped hitting her, her nose was bleeding, her eyes were showing the beginnings to fine bruises, and a thin line of crimson ran from the corner of her mouth to her chin.

His knuckles were going to be very bruised tomorrow. Already they were tender, and there was a faint smear of her blood on his knuckles. With a grunt of disgust at his actions, despite all that she had done to him, he still felt remorse for his actions. He stormed away, angry at himself for losing control of his emotions. Murderer of his brother or not, she was still a woman, and she was still younger than him. She was everything he had sworn to protect.

For a moment she just stood there, shaking from the pain that she was feeling, both emotional and physical. She licked the skin around her lip, and tasted the salty sweetness of her blood.

Then, Aidan followed the knight to the corner and hesitantly tugged on one of his brown sleeves so that he turned around to face her. She noticed that he too showed pain in his brown eyes. What she didn't know was that not only was it the pain of Gareth's death, but also pain that he felt in seeing that she was scared of him.

Then, Aidan did the strangest thing; she knelt at his feet with her head bowed subserviently. Her dark hair spilled down her back. Finally, she worked up the courage to finish her sentence that she had begun a handful of minutes ago. "I am very, very sorry for what I have done to you. All those taunts, Gareth's death, I truly am sorry for it. You may choose not to believe me, or want to believe me, and I do not fault you for it, but I am sorry. I am sorry that I have taken the last remnants of your home away from you. I am sorry that I ended Gareth's life for he was a kind man. But most of all, I am sorry that I have caused you such pain, and I lay my life at your feet so that you may have the revenge that is rightfully yours." At this, she bared her throat in a sign of offering. She knew that he had a knife with him. All of the knights had a hidden weapon somewhere at all times.

Galahad, despite his anger at both himself and the woman before him, realized what it took for her to say those words of apology, and to kneel like a slave who was no better than property, touched her brown hair gently with slightly shaking hands, before kneeling down so that he was eye level with her. Of all the knights he had the most compassionate and forgiving heart. Gently he put his finger underneath her chin and pushed her head up so that their eyes met. Totally surprised at the kindness the man before her was showing, she gulped. Never once in her life had she been so utterly forgiven by a person whom she had wronged on many, many occasions.

"I have one last thing for you, Galahad," she said quietly, suddenly remembering what she had taken with her.

"Yes?" he asked hesitantly.

She reached inside her beaten and old leather belt, and pulled out a white, crumpled flower which had begun to dry out slightly, its petals beginning to lose their pure color. She had been keeping it in reminder of the sweet young man she had known. He had given it to her about a week ago when he had been in a particularly cheerful mood. The young woman had no doubt that Gareth was going to haunt her heart for the rest of her life. She always was going to regret his death. Despite his temper, he had been a kind man, and it hurt her to know that it was she who was at fault for the man's early death.

Galahad recognized it immediately, having been there when Gareth had presented the young woman with the flower. "I thank you with all my heart, Aidan," he whispered, gently taking the flower from her hand. Reluctantly she relinquished her grasp on the delicate flower.

"Rhoswen," she whispered, closing her eyes. By the gods he looked so much like Faeolan. Perhaps that was why she had just told him her real name. Perhaps that was why she had just kneeled like a slave before him. Perhaps that was why she had just offered him her life so that she would be forgiven. Perhaps that was the reason, perhaps it was not. She herself did not know the answer. Either way, it hurt her to look at the knight before her, who was even kinder than his brother. The man in front of her had just forgiven her even though she had killed his brother, and used his death to bait him cruelly. There were some days that she just could not understand the other sex.

"What?" he asked, his dark eye brow raised in askance.

"It is my name. I thought that you should know my real one before everybody else. You may tell the others, if you like." He nodded. He had thought Aidan wasn't her real name, once he had known that she was actually an assassin. Aidan fit her better then her actual name, which meant "white rose." Even if Aid- Rhoswen was pretty like the rose she was named for. She wasn't beautiful, but she definitely was pretty.

Somehow he felt that he just knew Rhoswen a whole lot better. She may have been acting, and she may have been lying, but somehow Galahad knew that _this _woman before him was the real Rhoswen. Not the cold-hearted woman they had tortured earlier. Not the meek woman who had served them earlier. She was a woman who had encased her heart in walls of stone so that the life of an assassin did not break her far beyond repair.

Looking at the flower closely, he noticed new things about it. He had known that its previously silky smooth and soft petals had been white, but he had then realized the flower was a rose. How fitting. A white rose for the young woman whose name meant "white rose." Had Gareth known somehow? Or was it just coincidence?

"I thank _you_, Galahad, with all of _my _heart, for this gift that you have just given me." She stood slowly with a small, sad smile upon her face, and he followed suit. Perhaps salvation was not that far away after all.

* * *

Who is Faeolan? And the pairing won't be known for a long time from now, but I'm curious to know who you guys think I will pair her up with. It probably won't be what you expect. Review, please! This Galahad is not so much the one in the movie. Rather, he is more like the myths. I hope that this update pleases all; it was much faster than the other one! Please, please review! Even if it is only a couple of words, I really appreciate it like you can't believe.

Priestess


	9. Scouting isn't always the best idea

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intend to make any money from this, and neither do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

A/N: Vacation is wonderful, huh?

A/N2: 'Braewyn' means 'brown.'

**_This chapter is dedicated to two young woman who are very cool, and I have loved getting to know! Thanks Sachita and wild-vixen! You guys rock!_**

**_But that doesn't mean I don't adore your reviews as well, LANCELOTTRISTANBABY, southerngirl0525 (I'm dedicating chapter 11 to you,)jenni (probably chapter13,)LegolasIsMine (the next one is for you,) Freethinker (most likely chapter 14,) and Randomisation (I'm almost positive chapter 15!) I'm so happy that you took the time to review my story, and you guys just can't believe how much it means to me! I'm dedicating the next chapters to you guys, one by one, so you guys can get your due thanks! You guys are awesome too!

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_**

"I thank _you_, Galahad, with all of _my _heart, for this gift that you have just given me." She stood slowly with a small, sad smile upon her face, and he followed suit. Perhaps salvation was not that far away after all.

* * *

The first thing Galahad did after speaking to Rhoswen was to find Arthur. He needed to get out of Hadrian's Wall. He needed space and time alone to think about everything that had happened in the last few days. 

Galahad strode purposefully to the library where he hoped Arthur would be, his long legs efficiently covering the distance. He barely acknowledged those who greeted him, and barely noticed his surroundings. Before he knew it, he was at the library. Galahad shook his head slightly. This preoccupation he was suffering from at the moment was going to get him killed out in the forest.

As soon as he spotted the half-Roman man, he hurried up to him. He did not bow to his commander, or salute him, or even greet him as he normally did; he only asked quickly: "May I have permission to scout for a day?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow with a questioning look on his face, setting down the book he was reading. Galahad never, under any circumstances, volunteered to go scouting. Nevertheless, he agreed with the man's request. "Granted. And Galahad?"

"Hmmm?" The younger man was already absorbed in his thoughts, quickly running through the preparations needed for his trip.

"Running away from your problems doesn't help at all; it only delays them, and then they come back to harm you. Trust me."

"It seems like a good enough idea to me," he muttered. Arthur just shook his head at the young Sarmatian's ignorance.

Things were not going to turn out the way that Galahad thought or hoped they would.

* * *

Galahad's first thought when he entered the forest was that it was too quiet. Far too quiet. It was always bit eerie in the forest, but even more so at that moment, and Galahad did not like it one bit. Quickly, he grabbed his bow and notched an arrow on it. His brown eyes darted about, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever—or _whatever_—was out there. A sweat-soaked dark curl of hair fell into his eyes. He let it stay that way, not wanting to take a hand off of his bow or divide his attention, even momentarily. 

His horse, Braewyn, shuffled about. She too sensed that something was not right with the forest.

Dammit! This was not what he needed right now. He had gone out for a ride to clear his head, not pick a fight with some Woads! Though, admittedly, killing some of the blue, half-naked fools wouldn't hurt anything.

"Hello?" he called warily, his whole body tense and ready to react to anything that posed a threat. He hated to admit it, but he was nervous. Damn, he'd been starting to get too dependent on Gawain watching his back. As Braewyn shuffled anxiously, he realized that she too was nervous. Either that, or she was preparing for an attack.

It turned out to be the latter. With a cry, one blue-painted man charged the knight, suddenly appearing from behind a tree. Before the man had taken more than five steps he dropped with a cry, and an arrow was sprouting out of his forehead. He was dead before he hit the ground. The young Sarmatian had a second arrow on the string in several seconds.

A number of other Woads ran at the knight, yelling and distracting him. He shot two in less than fifteen seconds.

Galahad never saw it coming. He never saw the arrow. With a muffled cry of pain, he dropped his bow and arrow, and then slumped forward in his saddle. With a whinny of panic, Braewyn bolted and galloped off, leaving a few frustrated Woads in her wake and bringing Galahad with her.

* * *

Braewyn came trotting down the main road calmly, her brown coat somewhat dusty. It was the only way she knew how to get to Hadrian's Wall. 

The guards opened the gate, quickly recognizing Braewyn's rider as one of the Sarmatian knights. They opened the gates not out of good feelings of friendship towards the man, but rather fear of the other knights' wrath should they not open the gates to help him.

One of them cried, "Healer, we need a healer!"

Gawain was near the main gates at the time and heard the commotion. He hurried down to the wall to see what the fuss was all about, knife in hand so that he was prepared if there was any trouble. With a cry of agonized surprise at the sight of a slumped figure on Braewyn, he dashed forward, quickly sheathing the knife. "Galahad!"

When he reached him, he realized that he had missed the arrow. It was sprouting out of his friend's upper back. The would was bleeding sluggishly, but it looked terrible; the upper part of Galahad's thick tunic was soaked with blood, and was clinging to his back. How long had Galahad been like this? It couldn't have been more than a couple of hours, but those few hours had been enough to do some damage.

_Damn it, _thought Gawain. _This was not what was supposed to happen! He was supposed to come back refreshed, and a little happier, not with an arrow in the back! _Galahad may not have told him why he was going scouting, but to his best friend, the reasons behind his trip were plain.

He shook his friend gently, wary of the arrow. "Galahad! _Galahad_! Can you hear me?" Gawain was panicking. His blue eyes were wild with dread. He would not—could not—lose Gareth and Galahad within the span of a week! Gawain wasn't sure if he would be able to handle the losses.

The junior knight's head turned slightly at the sound of Gawain's voice. 'Gawain?' he mouthed, blinking sluggishly, before passing out once again from what Gawain assumed to be blood loss.

Hurriedly he grabbed Galahad with a grunt, and gently tossed him over his shoulder so that the arrow would not move farther into his back. Gawain almost dropped him for a second; the younger man was heavier than he had expected.

Gawain began to give orders. "You there! Roman! Make yourself useful by fetching Arthur and bringing him to the healers' rooms! And you! Take Braewyn to the stables or I swear by the Gods I'll make you-" He snapped when one of the guards hesitated. Gawain did not finish his sentence. He did not need to. The guards were already terrified of him. They were all such cowards, and all the knights enjoyed tormenting them.

He almost stumbled from Galahad's weight, but still managed to carry the younger man, most likely because of his sheer determination. Gawain got his long blond hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head so that he could see better what was before him.

He hurriedly made his way to the healers' quarters. By the time he had reached his intended destination, he was panting from exhaustion, and his muscles were beginning to burn. "Healer!" shouted Gawain. "Is anybody there?"

A woman scurried out. "Sir Gawain, what can I do—oh! Well, bring him in. Careful now, don't you touch that arrow." Rangelle, the healer, gestured for him to lay Galahad on his stomach on one of the beds. Gawain wiped his forehead with his hand to remove sweat, but only managed to leave smears of Galahad's blood on his forehead.

She inspected the wound. "Oh, this is not good, not good at all," she muttered to herself. Rangelle was a small, beautiful woman with copper hair and pale skin. Despite her lack of size, she could be quite formidable when she chose to be. Like Vanora. And Aidan. Speaking of which, he was going to have a little talk with the girl after this; it _was_ her fault that Galahad had gone scouting in the first place.

"Sir Gawain, help me get him out of the tunic." The healer's words snapped him out of his thoughts.

With teeth clenched in anxiousness, Gawain nodded and then pulled out one of his knives so that he cut Galahad's blood-soaked leather tunic off of him without disturbing the arrow much. It took him a handful of minutes to do the task put before him, for the man was attempting to avoid the arrow. Rangelle nodded her thanks to him once he finished his job. "I need you to hold him down in a moment."

Once again Rangelle was reminded about the hardship of these men's lives. White and pink seams marred the skin of Galahad's back. Many of those old wounds had been treated by her. She remembered many of those times all too well—the screams, the blood, the deaths, the near-death experiences. She shuddered to herself.

Gawain moved to assist her. He placed one big hand on Galahad's neck, and the other on the younger man's hamstrings. "One… two… three." She snapped the feathered part of the arrow off so that she could better access the wound without pushing the arrow farther into his back. Galahad's body convulsed and he moaned in pain as he quickly left the blessed darkness of unconsciousness.

Arthur dashed into the room, panting. He'd obviously run as fast as he could the whole time. Lines of worry were etched on his face. The only information that he'd received from the young Roman before he had taken off for the healers' rooms was that Galahad was wounded badly.

"What happened to him?" Gawain turned his head to look at his commander who had managed to enter unannounced.

"He _obviously_ ran into some Woads," snapped Gawain, in no mood for Arthur's questions. Despite Arthur being his commanding officer, Arthur treated his men as though they were his equals. The Roman was not offended in the least by Gawain's tone of voice. Arthur winced in sympathy as he saw the remaining part of the arrow in Galahad's back. It did not look very comfortable, to say in the least.

"Sir Arthur!" said the healer. She wiped a hand across one of her sleeves across her forehead, drying the sweat off. She was sweating already, and her hair was in disarray. "Perfect. I have need of your assistance. Sir Gawain will not be able to manage this by himself." Gawain really didn't like how that sounded. Apparently, neither did Galahad.

"Gawain?" murmured Galahad, panicked at the implications of the woman's words. Gawain was reminded how young Galahad was just then; he was only a little less than twenty. The knight shot the healer a dark look; she only stared back at him, totally unaffected by his display of hostility. She knew that he didn't mean it. After treating the knights' wounds for many, many years, she knew when they meant their threats and words or looks of anger, and when they didn't.

Gawain knelt beside his friend so that he was eye level with him. "Hold on, Galahad. I'm here for you. Hold on, pup. It will be over soon." There was infinite caring and sympathy in Gawain's voice, and it comforted Galahad, even if only a little. Galahad nodded slightly.

"I am _not_ a pup," he whispered half-heartedly. Gawain grinned in relief, having received the reply that he had desired. At least some of the old Galahad was still there underneath all that misery.

"Sir Arthur, his legs. Sir Gawain, his upper body." Rangelle was motioning to Gawain to give her one of his cleanest knives. He did so.

"One… two… three…" she said in a way of warning. Rangelle cut the skin beneath and above the arrow vertically less than an inch or so as deeply as she dared, so that she could slip the arrow out without leaving the arrowhead or tearing the skin even more. Galahad passed out, and his struggling ceased. She handed the knife to Arthur, and ordered him to begin heating the knife. The healer then went to work on getting the arrow out. "Gawain, I need you to sit on his legs, and hold down his upper body. This is going to hurt." He did so.

She put down the bloody knife. Rangelle clenched her fist before taking a deep breath. "I apologize in advance, my young friend," she whispered to the now totally conscious, wounded knight. She grabbed arrow, and slid it out. Galahad struggled to sit up, fighting fiercely against his friend, now wide awake. He choked back a sob at the blazing pain in his back.

Rangelle grabbed a rag in a basin of water and began to gently clean off the wound so that she could see it better. She quickly fished out a few slivers of wood that had been left behind by the arrow. That arrow had not been made well at all.

When the blade was finally glowing a red-orange, Arthur handed her the knife, and, without her instructions, moved to once again hold down the knight's legs. He knew what was coming. Cauterizing wounds was nasty business, and they all knew what to do, having gone through the procedure a handful of times before.

Once again, she flexed her hand nervously before apologizing to the silent knight who knew and dreaded what was coming. "Alright, Galahad, Gawain, Arthur. One… two… three." She pressed the knife down gently, sealing the wound so that no infection would find its way to his injury. Galahad's back arched against the knife, attempting to find relief. By the time she lifted the knife a few seconds later, Galahad was crying silently, a few salty tears sliding down his cheeks, unable to find the darkness and peace of unconsciousness that he so desired.

Rangelle left the room quietly, stopping only to gather the dirty water and cloth, giving the knights the privacy they obviously desired.

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Well, there you have chapter nine. I threw Rangelle in there. There will possibly be a Gawain/OC pairing if you haven't noticed. But I'm not sure yet. Just stuck her in to fool around with. Should be fun. Anyways, thanks for reading, and REVIEW PLEASE!

Good luck to everybody who has finals. That means we're almost done with school. Yay.

Also, the judging for the Tristran Awards has begun!

Priestess


	10. Of Many Memories

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

_**This chapter is for the ever lovely LegolasIsMine.

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**_

_**Heaven's gates won't open up for me  
With these broken wings I'm fallin'  
And all I see is you  
These city walls ain't got no love for me**_

_-Nickelback

* * *

_

Once again, she flexed her hand nervously before apologizing to the silent knight who knew and dreaded what was coming. "All right, Galahad, Gawain, Arthur. One… two… three." She pressed the knife down gently, sealing the injury so that no infection would find its way to his wound. Galahad's back arched against the knife, attempting to find relief. By the time she lifted the knife a few seconds later, Galahad was crying silently, a few salty tears sliding down his cheeks, unable to find the darkness and peace of unconsciousness that he so desired.

Rangelle left the room quietly, only stopping to gather the dirty water and cloth, giving the knights the privacy they obviously desired.

* * *

Once Galahad was sleeping soundly, Gawain stormed towards the dungeons. Towards Aidan. He was in a foul mood after seeing Galahad's obviously unbearable pain, and turned towards the most reasonable outlet. Aidan. Besides, nobody would care, would they? She was an arrogant assassin, and downright bratty when she chose to be. Nobody cared for her, and perhaps taunting her would quell the violent rage he felt. Perhaps he could get her to understand what she had done. Perhaps he could understand _why _she wanted to torment the knights. 

All the people he passed quickly jumped out of his way, fearing his wrath if they did not move fast enough. His eyes were burning with rage, and he had a murderous look on his face. Nobody was fool enough to inquire what was wrong, or point out the fact that he had blood on his shirt. No, right then Gawain was downright terrifying; perhaps even more so than Tristran was after they arrived home from battle, his hair flying wildly and his clothes splattered with blood.

* * *

"Aidan!" snarled Gawain after the guard had let him into her cell. He didn't bother to wait until the Roman left. "What did you say to him?" 

She stared at him blankly, not understanding why he was so angry with her for speaking to Galahad. He and the other knights had, after all, left Galahad and herself alone together. What was he so upset about? What was wrong?

"_What did you say to him?"_

"Why—what? I—" She never finished her sentence because Gawain moved so quickly, like a deadly serpent striking. One of his hands was around her throat, pinning her against the dungeon wall, somehow managing to avoid the slave collar. The young woman stopped squirming immediately when she saw the look in his brown eyes, and she froze, terror evident on her face.

_She was pinned against the cold stone wall. His breath was on her face. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and it terrified her. Something must have gone wrong, for he was rarely drunk. _

_Rhoswen tried to focus on something other than his hands. Under different circumstances, she might have found his kisses and touches to be pleasing. But this was against her will. She did _not _want to have sex with this man. This man who called himself her 'master.' Her 'owner.' And he indeed was, in the eyes of Rome and its citizens, her 'owner.' He was also a person she loathed more than anything else on this earth, perhaps even more than the young man who had abandoned her to her fate as a slave long ago._

_And if it wasn't for the cruel look in his eyes, the man would be very handsome. But his dark, glittering, brown eyes were cold, and he wore a look of malicious amusement. He was obviously enjoying her pain and fear._

_All reasonable thoughts and all her training fled her as soon as she made eye contact with him. So this was what all those years of degradation had come to. How could she not remember anything, not remember any of her training? How could she not remember anything at all? She was suddenly a terrified seven year old once again, powerless to keep a man twenty years her senior from raping her. She might as well command the tide to retreat. With a hand raised to strike him, she froze._

_"You wouldn't dare hit me," he said calmly, tilting his head. He fingered her slave collar, reminding her just who she was. She fought down the urge to spit in his face. Defiance would only hurt her and her mother. It would get her nothing besides pain and wounds. "Nevertheless, sweet, perhaps your mother should pay for your thoughts." The endearment was an insult._

_She quickly dropped her hand. "No!" she cried, finally able to speak once more. Rhoswen began to sob quietly. The only time she cried was when her mother was threatened. "Please! _Please!_ Don't hurt her. I'll do anything!"_

_"Anything, dear Aidan?" he whispered with a raise of his eyebrow, watching her reaction with malicious amusement, enjoying her torment. Toying with her amused him greatly, more then hurting his other slaves because he enjoyed how the spirit in her eyes died a little more every day with each taunt, each blow. "You'll do anything?" He was truly interested now. Rhoswen shivered slightly._

_"Anything," she confirmed softly. "Just don't hurt her!"_

_  
_"NO!" she screamed, twisting, clawing, scratching, kicking hysterically at Gawain, who still had her neck in one hand. "No, _no,_ NO! Please," she begged. "Oh, please don't hurt her," she begged. "She didn't do anything!" The fact that Gawain had the same eye and hair color as her 'master' only served to bury her further in her memories.

Immediately Gawain dropped his hand and stepped back, disgust evident on his face. Despite his anger, he could not help but feel a little pity towards the woman in front of him. He had a feeling that it was not him she feared, because she was gazing at something that obviously only she could see.

Aidan slid to her knees, still wrapped in memories, though it was less intense than before. She was still begging him to not hurt "her." Whoever "her" was. Aidan was babbling pleas and apologies, and promising to never do it again.

Gawain shook her roughly, calling "Aidan! _Aidan!_" which seemed to snap her out of her memories.

"Don't call me Aidan," she said vehemently, sniffing. She rose, gathering as much dignity she possibly could. "I'm not Aidan, sir. My name is Rhoswen! Never _ever _call me Aidan." She didn't stop to think about the threat in her voice.

"Well, I don't give a damn about your name, girl!" he snapped, stiffening at the tone of her voice. Who was she to speak to him so? She was a cowardly warrior. An assassin. Assassins were not worthy of respect; they killed under the cover of dark when their victims could not fight back. "What I _do_ care about is what you said to Galahad!"

"What I said to him? I apologized to him. What else would I do?" she spat, angry at the accusation in Gawain's voice. "But why would any of that matter to _you_?"

"It matters to me because right now, Galahad is lying in the healers' rooms—when he left to go scouting, he returned with an arrow in his back!" Gawain snapped, exasperated.

"Oh, so naturally you thought _I _was the one to drive him to go scouting?" she snarled, not comprehending that Galahad was badly injured.

"It adds up, _Aidan_! You may not want to help him just because somebody actually _cares_ if he lives or dies, but the rest of us obviously care for him. We are brothers, but you _obviously _wouldn't understand that because _nobody_ cares if _you _live or die!"

Rhoswen reeled back as if she had been slapped. A hand flew to her mouth, and tears welled in her wide blue eyes. She hurriedly dashed them away, though one managed to escape, sliding down her cheek, leaving a clean trail down her dirty cheek. _Damn him! _she thought. How had he read her like Tristran had? Was it so obvious how to hurt her?

"Don't give me those antics, you little manipulative bitch! _What did you say to him?" _he roared, yet he could not help but wince inwardly at the hurt that was evident on her face.

"You are not lying, are you?" she whispered. She'd thought he was just trying to draw her out.

"Of course not!" Gawain said, more calmly than before. His rage, having found its outlet, was fading now. He tilted his head and looked at the young woman in front of him. What was it about her that made him want to comfort her? Was it her wide eyes that gave her an air of innocence, despite the fact that she was obviously not innocent in the least? "Do you think that I would make something like this up?"

She shrugged, no longer angry, and was quiet. She appeared almost defeated, her eyes cast towards the ground. He sighed, and rubbed his chin. "I apologize, Rhoswen. I had no right to yell at you, or blame you, or say the things that I did. Will you forgive me?"

She looked up at him sadly and said, "Yes you do, Gawain, and you know it very well, no matter what you say to me. I deserved it, more than you could ever understand. But yes, of course I forgive you." Gawain shook his head, and looked into Rhoswen's blue eyes.

It was Rhoswen who looked away first.

"Come," Gawain beckoned, finally making up his mind. "I'll take you to see Galahad." _He seemed to want to see you. _He didn't say that. _He seems to like you. _He didn't tell her that either. Why the young man liked the girl before him was a mystery. He could not believe that Galahad had forgiven her, even to some degree. But Galahad was far more forgiving than the rest of them. His heart was far bigger.

"But I thought—"

"You're under my supervision. It'll be fine. And after that, we will go to the blacksmith's."

She stared at him, not comprehending why they would go to the smithy. "Your collar," he reminded her, a bit impatiently.

"Oh," she said, feeling stupid. _Of course. _

"And then we can go to Arthur so that you can get a room near ours."

He put his hand on the small of her back and gave her a light push so that she moved forwards. "I do not deserve any of this," she said to him, stopping once more. "Why are you and Galahad so kind to me? I have wronged the both of you terribly, and you and I and the rest know it."

"Are you really so eager to be punished, Rhoswen?" She smiled slightly, but it was a sad expression, impossible to associate with any sort of humor.

"Please answer my question, Gawain."

The knight shrugged, looking at her, his face contorted in puzzlement. "Honestly?" Rhoswen nodded and gave him a look that spoke volumes, saying that _obviously _she wanted him to speak the truth. "I don't know. I guess you remind me a bit of my older sister. Her and Rangelle. Speaking of which," he said, tactfully changing the subject, "we should get you something for those bruises."

"I forgot entirely about them. I'll be fine; I have had far worse. I will live, I promise you." To that, he closed his eyes momentarily, trying unsuccessfully to block out what she was saying. She was even younger than Galahad. Both of them should not be living the lives that they were. It just wasn't right. If she had been older than Galahad, Gawain didn't think that he would have cared as much. But she was a year or two younger than his best friend. And against his better judgment, he cared.

Life was not fair to anybody, he tried to remind himself. He tried to feel less sorry for her, knowing that she just wouldn't want it. He knew that that was how she managed. It would also get him less tangled up into the trap that was her life.

* * *

Tristran's lip curled as he watched Gawain lead the girl to Galahad. It was pathetic how the rest of the knights fell for her tricks. But he wasn't so sure anymore that they were indeed tricks. The contrite look on her face when passing Gareth's room didn't appear to be an act. Perhaps he had misjudged her and been overly harsh on her. _No, _he reminded himself. _No. She killed Gareth. She deserved everything that I did._

Unbidden, their words rang in his head.

"_How does it feel, girl? How does it feel to see us mourn Gareth's death, and to know that nobody will ever feel such pain when you die?" _he had said.

And she had replied:_ "Well, how does it make you feel to know that you could have prevented his death? Arthur's wound, Gareth's death…it is all your fault. Figure it out; that is all that I will tell you, you bastard."_

What the hell was she talking about? How was _he_ to blame? Perhaps she was referring to the fact that he had told the others but they had not listened. No, that did not make much sense. How, damn it? How was he to blame for Arthur's wound and Gareth's death?

Tristran heaved a sigh. Why couldn't life ever be simple? He had liked this life better three years ago. All he had been required to do was kill and not ask questions. It had been easier before Isolde. It had been far easier. Now he questioned everything he did for Rome. Especially why he fought for a country that took what was not theirs and destroyed whatever did not submit to its rule.

Tristran bit his lip hard, lost in memories. _It's getting harder to remember what she looked and sounded like_, he thought, melancholy at the thought. Soon, it was going to be the time of year when he was at his worst. It was also the time of year when he was loneliest.

_Tristran nearly tumbled off his horse when he saw the two women lying on the crimson grass. He knew those women, and in the back of his mind, he felt himself go numb with horror. _

_Her sky blue eyes were clouded with pain. They seemed to bore through him and suddenly his vision was slightly blurry; he knew the other knights were almost to the point of tears as well._

_He couldn't breathe; his chest was constricting.  
_

_He ran towards her, covering the last feet between them by sliding on his knees. Isolde was still alive, but death would come before long. _

_"Isolde!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "No...Isolde."  
_

_Weakly, she reached up and touched his unshaven jaw line. "I love you," she gasped out, coughing up more blood.  
_

_She glanced up to see Tristran, his eyes wide and shining with…unshed tears?  
_

_And Tristran realized then that she was crying too. He hadn't noticed the tears slipping down her cheeks and landing on the bloodstained ground. She stared at him through blurred eyes, seeing his face…the face that had protected her in dreams and even in the waking world. He wished he could make her better. He wished he could end her suffering. He wished many things, but he could not do any of them._

_"No." He kissed her forehead, brushing her copper hair out of her eyes. "Please," he begged her, not truly knowing what he was begging her to do. _

_"Yes," she whispered through her gurgling sobs; the sound sickened all of the men listening. Her lung had been punctured, and she was dying slowly as she bled through her mouth and chest. "The gods have ordained it," she rasped._

_"Damn the gods, Isolde!" Tristran said. "Since when have you listened to anyone? Why start now?" _

_She smiled slightly. It was a smile that was barely there. Her blue eyes fluttered closed, never to open again in this world._

_Tristran's world collapsed in on him. Without her, he was only a cold-blooded Sarmatian man who killed at Rome's bidding. A traitor to Sarmatia. A man without love for anyone. A man without love_ from _anyone. He had nothing to fight for. His family was dead. His cousin had betrayed him. Isolde was dead. All of it was gone. Everything.  
_

_His eyes hardened. Emotion was weakness. It had fatally weakened him. It had killed a man. He would not allow love to do that again._

_  
_He scratched his head momentarily, pulling on a braid that had loosened over time. He was going to have to get Vanora to braid it again soon. Isolde had usually done it for him. The scout turned on his heel and stalked off, deep in thought.

* * *

"Go away, Rhoswen," Galahad said, his back facing her when he heard her enter the room. It was obvious who it was. She did not walk like any of the knights, and if she had been Vanora or one of the healers, she would have said something as she entered. 

The footsteps slowed until they halted, but he did not hear her turn around to leave. "_Go_," he snapped. He heard her shuffle nervously. "Get. Out. Rhoswen. I do not want to speak with you at this very moment. I want to _think_ and I cannot do that with you here. Especially when what I must think about is you."

"No," she said. Well, she certainly was stubborn, he'd give her that.

"Why are you here?" Galahad demanded of the young woman, giving up on the ordering her to leave; it was obvious she was not going to comply with his wishes. With a groan of pain, he rolled over to face her, a fine sheen of sweat gathering on his face. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and walked towards him, kneeling on the floor so that they were eye level. She tilted her head sideways, slightly, regarding him with those impressive azure eyes. She sniffed, closing her eyes, taking in more calming breaths. Should she tell him what she hadn't told anybody else? Should she?

_Oh gods,_ she thought to herself. _Is this where I tell him? Should I? Is it wise? Will they accuse me of lying, and then send me back to my cell, and laugh when my mother dies? _She was terrified that Arthur _didn't _mean his promises, and that the day she told him everything would be the day of her death. Or that he would _not _protect her, and would leave her mother to die, hoping, praying and waiting for the day when she would be rescued. She was so scared that the knights were simply toying with her because it amused them, just like hurting her had amused _him._

"What is it?"

She shook her head, swallowing hard, licking her lips nervously. Her eyes were shining… with tears?

"I'm scared," she whispered, trusting him for some reason.

"Of what?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"That—that—" She swallowed and ran a hand through her hair, attempting to calm herself. "How do I know to trust _you_? You say that I must provide information that you can verify, but how do I know that I can trust all of you knights? How do I know you're not like _him_?"

"Oh gods, Rhoswen," he whispered. What the hell was it about her that he liked and respected? Why did he want to comfort her? For the gods' sakes, she had murdered his brother a week ago! "I had no idea. I promise you that we are true of heart. We will _not _betray you if you too are not lying." She nodded, slightly more relaxed than before. Galahad sighed. "I wish," he started. "I wish…" _I wish that Gareth had not died. I wish I could hate you. I wish you found peace so that mayhap you would not torment me so._

"I know. We all wish," she said sadly, with that small, sad smile of hers that she wore so often, "but all that wishes achieve is to reveal our deepest miseries."

He could not deny how true her words were.

Reaching out with a hesitant hand, she stroked his sweat-soaked curls, laying her cheek on the bed.

"Rhoswen," he said, finally coming to terms with something. There was a gleam of something like pain and torment in his eyes that let her know that whatever it was he was about to say, it would cost her greatly.

"Yes?"

"I need you to do something for me."

"What is it?" she asked warily. To her, the male gender was not to be trusted.

He reached out to stroke her hair, to calm her, to perhaps convince her that he _was _to be trusted, but ended up moaning with pain as he realized he used his bad shoulder to do so. _That was brilliant,_ he thought to himself with a mental shake of his head.

Unbidden, a giggle fought its way free itself from her throat at his stupidity (to which he scowled good-naturedly at her). "Uh-uh," she said, with a slight grin (one of the first non-sad smiles he'd seen her wear.) "You should heal, but you won't be able to use that arm for a few days." Mostly people had seen what happened when warriors rushed back to duty before they had healed. If their wounds healed badly, then they would lose their abilities with bow and sword—a fate worse than death for a warrior.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Galahad's mouth. "Since when did you become a healer?"

She shrugged. "I know a bit; everybody has to." The knight nodded in agreement. "Besides, I'm sure you've seen what happens if a wound heals poorly." Galahad shuddered in true horror, not acting at all.

"Well," he said, "you are very good at changing the subject, but I must ask you a favor, as I have stated before. I promise you that it will not be as bad as you think."

"Ask me, and I will see if I agree. Yes?" Rhoswen had learned early on in life to never make a promise open-endedly.

"Fair enough. Why…how did you become the man's slave? What happened? I can gather your parents did not sell you in to slavery."

Rhoswen froze and a fake smile was plastered on her face as she considered his request. No, she couldn't bring herself to tell her story just yet.

"No," she said softly. "No," her voice was louder, more panicked. She couldn't betray her mother. She could _not. _Not after all these years of pain she'd endured to save her mother. "I won't."

"Rhoswen," Galahad pleaded with her, struggling to sit up. "Talk about it. Please. You owe it to me, and you owe it to Gareth. If we don't know what we're going to protect you from, it just isn't right. I deserve to know why you do this."

She shook her head, biting her lip so hard that it drew blood. She could not cry. She just wouldn't. She wouldn't let herself. Rhoswen swore mentally and licked her lip, blinking quickly so that she wouldn't cry. Hurriedly, she stood up, striding away and turning her back to him.

She had walked only a short distance from him when he snapped, "If you push everyone away, who will be there to hold you when you cry?"

"I don't cry," she said with a shake of her head, her back still facing him, body tense and brown hair falling in her face. "I don't cry, Galahad. Never. Do you want to know why, Galahad? Do you? I'm terrified that if I start, I won't know how to stop." Besides, crying was something that her 'master' expected her to do. It was something that he wanted her to do. Something that would show the evidence of his complete and utter dominance over her. She left the last part unsaid.

Rhoswen turned to look at him once again, eyes wide. She held his gaze only a moment before she bolted out the door to Arthur's rooms where Gawain and Arthur were waiting for her, no doubt to show that they trusted her… or at least a little bit.

Galahad sighed and lowered his head into his hands, left alone with only his thoughts and doubts to torment him.

* * *

I love Galahad. I'm serious! I just love torturing him. From now on I am going to try and make these chapters this length. The others were way too short, I've realized.

Anyways, please review! It doesn't matter if it's a sentance fragment. It can be one word. Just please review! You can't possibly realize how much it means to me, you guys! Well, thanks for reading this. I can't wait to see what you guys think!

Priestess


	11. Aislin

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intend to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

* * *

S**_outherngirl0525, this chapter is dedicated to you! In the beginning it was a relatively cheerful one… but, well… At least you get a pretty happy Rhoswen at the end!_**

_I fall to pieces, I'm falling  
Fell to pieces and I'm still falling  
Every time I'm falling down  
All alone I fall to pieces_

_**Velvet Revolver

* * *

**_

Galahad sighed, and lowered his head into his hands left alone with only his thoughts and doubts to torment him.

* * *

How the hell could she have almost told him? She didn't even know him well! She sighed and ran a hand through her hair again, heading towards Arthur's room, taking long strides that would quickly cover the distance between her and Gawain and Arthur.

Honestly, she was not so sure that she had to be wary of these men, these Sarmatian knights. They seemed so honorable, so damned trustworthy, and it should have eased her mind. But somehow it didn't. It made her even more suspicious. They were probably attempting to deceive her. After all, why would they want to help _her_? She tried to murder their commander! Not to mention she had also killed Gareth.

The young woman shook her head, mentally berating herself for being so stupid. She should be watching the shadows, not thinking about whether to trust these knights or not! She could do that later, when she was safe. Walking down the corridors, even if it was daytime, was not smart.

Rhoswen knew Maunrus all too well, and she knew that he would send somebody to follow her in case she failed. He would want to ensure that his secrets were not spilled to ears not meant to hear them. Not that she knew too many of Maunrus' secrets; he did not trust her at all. And indeed, he did not trust her for a good reason. But she _had _lived around him for about a decade. But he needn't have worried; he had her mother, the one thing that made her truly vulnerable to his threats.

Whether or not her mother was in captivity, Rhoswen was bold. She lived life on the edge, always trying to enjoy her time on earth, because many people in her line of work did not lead the longest of lives. Because of this brazenness of hers, Maunrus feared that Rhoswen was bold enough to take the chance to save her mother—even though Maunrus held her mother captive. And indeed, Rhoswen was daring enough to take that chance. For she was on her way to tell Arthur some of her story—but not all of it. No, she dared not tell it to him in its entirety.

She turned her thoughts back to Maunrus and his secrets. Threats of torture didn't faze her. Oh, they did to some degree, for you would have to be stupid to _not _fear being purposely hurt in the most painful way. Maunrus would not beat her badly enough to hurt her permanently or scar her too badly. Since she had come into his possession and he had been training her, her value had risen substantially; she was now worth quite an amount of money. He also earned money when he loaned her out to men in need of an assassin. And besides, she _was _good at what she did. But if she told Arthur what she knew…Maunrus was not going to spare her, despite her monetary worth.

_Aislin would not meet her eyes. Nevertheless, she saw the tears that ran down Aislin's cheeks. She saw the silent sobs of despair that wracked the too-thin shoulders of her dear, dear friend. She saw that there was no color in her friend's usually pink, now tear-stained cheeks. She looked like a ghost, and she was a ghost. She was a ghost of a lovely woman. _

_This was not the bubbly woman she had known! This was not the ever- cheerful woman who stayed up long past midnight to talk with her! This was not the lively woman she had befriended! This was not the woman with whom she had shared every one of her secrets! This was the empty shell of that wonderful woman she had known. _

_But why did she look so defeated, with her shoulders slumped so? Surely Maunrus would not kill her! Surely he would spare her life. He would beat her instead; not kill her, wouldn't he?_

_Rhoswen looked down at her own rope-bound hands and then to her friend's hands. What would Maunrus do? Best to make sure that he would not kill her best friend, the woman who had befriended her upon her arrival._

_The Woad threw herself at Maunrus' feet, looking pleadingly up at him, and placing herself between the Roman and the Gaul. "Master…" _Oh, how she hated that word! _"Oh, please punish me instead!" _She hated how pitiful and weak she sounded. She hated this whole situation. She just wanted Aislin to be safe and unharmed! Was that too much to ask for? _"'Tis not her fault! It is my fault! She does not deserve this! Please, I will bear the burden." Aislin looked up to meet her eyes, and what Rhoswen saw there was fear._

_She remembered how Aislin had confided in her, telling her how she was terrified of dying. Aislin had been a good assassin; one who followed every one of Maunrus' orders so that she could live to see another day. The young woman was so scared of dying that she was not crying from physical pain, but mostly from fear. It made Rhoswen feel absolutely terrified to see her friend acting that way._

_She allowed herself to cry wretchedly, allowed Maunrus to see how he was affecting her, hoping that he would be satisfied with that victory and have mercy on the other woman._

_"My sweet," he cooed mockingly, and it was all that Rhoswen could do to keep her face from contorting in disgust, "you really do not know what happens when a piece of my property runs away? No, you do not? Really? Well, I must admit that I am quite surprised! Well, perfect, then you can help me with this task."_

_Rhoswen shook her head. She did not know what he wanted her to do, but she was absolutely sure that it would not be good for Aislin, and she wanted no part in it. "No," she whispered. "No," she said, her voice louder and stronger. "You cannot make me. I care not as to what you say, but I will _not _do anything to Aislin." As far as she was concerned, even threats to her mother's health would not faze her. Not when this more pressing matter was at hand. She could think about the consequences of her actions later. _

_"You dare disobey me, dear?" The Roman raised an eyebrow, not letting her see his shock. There was a slight murmur in the gathered assassins. Nobody disobeyed Maunrus. It just wasn't done. Disobeying Maunrus was usually the last thing one did before meeting a horribly painful death._

_"Yes!" she spat, her resolution strengthening._

_"Very well, instead of a quick death, a painless one that you would have obviously provided her with, I shall draw it out, and you will listen to every scream that echoes in this room. You will watch every tear of pain that escapes those lovely eyes of hers. You will watch every drop of blood fall to the ground." He grinned maliciously, enjoying that the strength quickly left her eyes as she was then tormented with the decision. 'So, will you reconsider your choice?" Maunrus saw Aislin meet Rhoswen's eyes, and then he saw Aislin shake her head slightly._

_"No!" Rhoswen cried. "Please do not do this! PLEASE! It is my fault. All mine. It was not her idea at all. I planted the idea in her mind, but then lost the courage to carry it out! It is my fault, not hers!" She didn't care that he would kill her for something that she didn't do if she said that it had been her plan, but at that moment, saving Aislin was more important that saving herself, or even her mother._

_Maunrus raised the knife and Aislin cringed away from it. He brought it down ruthlessly, without any hesitation at all. _

_Everybody on the property of Maunrus Ardunous heard that blood-curdling scream of absolute pain. "YOU BASTARD!" shrieked Rhoswen, lunging for him, not caring that her hands were bound and it would be so easy for him to kill her. She did not think about anything except for Aislin's moans of pain, her desire to save Aislin and her anger at Maunrus. _

_But Calhoun stopped her. Calhoun pulled her back, and stopped her from attacking Maunrus. How could he? How could he expect her to merely sit around and watch her best friend be tortured to death?

* * *

_

He watched her cast nervous glances at the shadows, those blue eyes of hers darting about. He was to watch her for a week, and if he had proof she had failed and spilled secrets, then he could kill her. He fought back a malicious chuckle.

Oh, she had a good reason to be jumpy. She knew what happened when one of them failed, and she damn well knew that the noble didn't trust her.

But he had orders. Orders he did not like. He was to watch, and wait, and do nothing. That bitch was going to wish she had never opened her mouth; she would wish she had kept it sealed like a good assassin. Oh, she was good at getting close to her victims and killing them, but she was too emotional.

He admired her as she strode on, brown hair bouncing behind her in her haste. It intrigued him how she looked like a deer being hunted. That panicked look on her face, those wide, innocent eyes.

_What a waste, _he thought as he absentmindedly rubbed the newly healed scar on his wrist, watching her pass him. She was going to pay, and she was going to pay dearly when he had permission.

But for now, he was to wait.

* * *

Hesitantly turning her back to the shadows, Rhoswen knocked on Arthur's door.

"Come in," his voice sounded from inside the room. She opened the door, quickly stepping inside, and closed it behind her.

"Arthur, how pleasant to see you," she said calmly, using her sleeve to mop the slight trickle of sweat from her forehead.

The corners of Arthur's mouth turned upwards. "Rhoswen."

"Hello yourself, Rhoswen," came Gawain's voice. She shot a smirk at him. He was attempting to look offended that she had not greeted him.

"And greetings, Gawain," she amended. He smiled. He smiled a lot, she had noticed.

"Sit down, Rhoswen, please."

"Thank you." She sat with a contented sigh on one of the cushioned seats. The young woman made a mental note to visit Arthur more often; she liked his chairs.

"Rhoswen, tell me what happened. You needn't go into details, just an outline of why you are an assassin."

She nodded, drawing in a shaky breath as her heartbeat immediately quickened at the thought of what she was about to tell Arthur. She was on her way to taking yet another bold move. At least he had not yet questioned her on the identity of her master. Rhoswen was not sure if she was prepared to share that information yet. She was sure he was going to ask her within the next five minutes, though.

"I was five." She paused to lick her lips. Why couldn't she shake off the feeling that somebody was watching? Was she just being paranoid? Or was she being followed by one of the other assassins? "My friend and I had been playing a game, chasing each other across the forest, and it had led us far from our village." _If I had not insisted that we would be all right if we wandered off from our village, would any of this have happened? Would Mahon live right now? Would I be who I am—a heartless bitch who kills for a living, enjoying the pain of others? _"Men found us; they shot and killed my friend, and they captured me." _Tristran watched this happen. Tristran did not save me! _How she wanted to say it all, but she dared not. "I was then sold to a man who bartered slaves for a living. Of course, a nobleman," _may he rot in hell, _"bought me, and managed to get a hold of my mother. I do not know how. He trained me as an assassin, and years later, here I am."

Arthur nodded. "And what is his name, Rhoswen?"

Every instinct told her to not answer the question. To shake her head and say she wouldn't tell them, and allow herself to be led back to the dungeons. But then, almost involuntarily she opened her mouth. She wanted to live a new life—a life where she did not fear for her mother's safety. A life where she did not do a job without receiving anything in return.

"Maunrus." She swallowed. "Maunrus Ardunous. He is a somewhat powerful noble in the north of Britain. He was given that land by the pope because of a favor that Maunrus had done him. Now, may I have a map of Britain, please?"

Arthur got up and walked over to his desk where he fumbled through his papers until he found what he was looking for. Striding back to the table and chairs, he placed the map on the marble table.

Rhoswen waited until Arthur had seated himself again before she started. "His estate is here," she said, pointing to a place on the map, near a forest. "It is well guarded, almost as well guarded as Hadrian's Wall." Absentmindedly, traced a line around the castle with her finger. When she realized they were waiting expectantly to hear what she had just drawn, she said, "Those are the walls that surround his estate."

"I see. Do you possibly know who asked for me to be killed?" Arthur asked. To this, Rhoswen shook her head.

"I have an idea and I can give you a few names, but I am unsure. Two of his friends visited him the week before he told me that I was to kill you."

"Thank you, Rhoswen."

She nodded.

"But you must understand that I will have need of your help later, should we attempt to rescue your mother.

Once again she nodded her agreement, not that she had much of a choice if she wanted to save her mother.

"Think about who might have asked a favor of Maunrus, please. Gawain will take you to the blacksmith's now. Gawain, Rhoswen." He nodded his dismissal to the two.

Rhoswen gave a small wave as she headed towards the door. He smiled back at her, revealing a set of white teeth. _Odd for a Roman, _she thought to herself._ They eat many foods that stain their teeth; it is rather impressive to see that Arthur has near-white teeth._ Not that it really mattered to her, of course. Gods, she was thinking about such minute things these days. Small things that she did not have the luxury of thinking about, and she would do well to remember it.

* * *

Gawain and Rhoswen walked in a comfortable silence, deep in thought. He, however, did not fail to notice that her eyes were glued to the shadows, and she looked terrified. Bloody hell, why did she not tell him? It was obvious that she was afraid Maunrus had sent someone to follow her, and possibly kill her. Perhaps he had. Perhaps that assassin was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect chance. But it was also possible that no assassin had been sent, and that Rhoswen's fears were unwarranted.

Why would she not tell him, though? Was she plotting something? Perhaps it was not terror that he saw in her eyes at all. Perhaps it was anticipation of what would happen next. No, he mustn't be so hard on her.

Gawain did not talk as much as Lancelot (ah, gods, that infernal chattering of his!) but he did not like the silence that grew between the two of them. Despite the silence being a comfortable one, he still felt the urge to say something to the young woman beside him.

"What are you thinking?" It was a pathetic question that would not hold a conversation very well, but he had to say _something._

"Me? What are _you _thinking about?"

"I asked you first," he pointed out.

"Yes, I know you did."

"Ladies first."

"Oh, fine! I am thinking about how I do not like the shadows right now."

Ah, so he had been right.

"Now you. What are you thinking about, ever lovely Sir Gawain who likes to talk a lot?" _That rhymes with Lancelot,_ she mused.

"I am thinking about you."

"Really?" she asked, not really focusing on him, but more on the shadows.

He made a noncommittal sound, but then grinned. "Really."

"Interesting."

"I know."

"So where are we going?"

"The black—"

"I know _that._ I may be stupid at times, but I am not _that_ stupid. Where is the blacksmith's?"

"By the marketplace."

"Ah," she said, as though his directions explained it.

More silence. Rhoswen had resumed her task of watching the shadows. It was about four o' clock, so there were not many shadows, but it was better safe than sorry. She did not enjoy the prospect of being killed by another of Maunrus' assassins—not when she was so close to being free.

This time, Gawain let the silence be, accepting her dread and accepting the fact that, for the moment, she was non-talkative. After about five minutes, they reached the blacksmiths.' "After you," he said, motioning for her to enter.

_So it was indeed by the marketplace,_ she thought to herself, for about twenty yards away lay the marketplace, which was beginning to close up as many of the villagers departed to begin preparations for the evening meal. It wasn't that she didn't trust Gawain's directions, she just wasn't entirely convinced that he was completely knowledgeable in describing locations, even if he had lived in this place for the greater part of his life.

She felt the heat hit her face as soon as she opened the door. The blacksmith, whose name she did not yet know, was working on a sword. The blade was glowing a bright orange, and Rhoswen knew that she did not want to get in the blacksmith's way.

"One minute, please!" the blacksmith said, glancing up as they entered. Gawain nodded, and the man resumed his work.

Once he had finished with the blade, he placed it in a basin of water to quickly cool off the hot metal. Wiping his hands on his dirty apron, the man extinguished the fire. When he had finished cleaning his hands more thoroughly, he turned to the pair.

"Now, what do ye want this time, Gawain?"

Gawain smiled. Again. Why was he always so cheerful? "Nice to see you too, Belial."

The burly man grinned in return. "Ah, and who are you, pretty lady?"

Rhoswen liked this jovial man already. He was almost like Lancelot; he obviously liked to talk. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Lancelot was endearing. Well, he was endearing in his own, different ways. "Rhoswen," she replied, taking his outstretched hand and shaking it.

"Well, hello, Rhoswen."

He turned back to Gawain. "Nothing for me. We have something that needs to be taken care of," said the knight.

"Oh? And what is that?"

Gawain motioned for Rhoswen to walk up next to the big blacksmith. "This," he replied, and Rhoswen pushed her shirt collar to one side, revealing the slave collar. "We need you to remove this," Gawain finished.

Belial's eyes went round and he opened his mouth, holding his hands out in front of him and stepping back.

"No, no and _no_, my friend. And as lovely as you seem, Rhoswen, I am not getting involved in whatever is happening around here. But I will not judge you based on your past occupation and I will not tell anybody; you have my word."

"Please," she begged. "I do not want your word! I want you to _please _take this damned collar off! It'll take only a minute. It is only silver; it's not like it is iron or something like that that will take a while to cut through. And you can keep the collar and melt it down and use the silver for something."

"I would rather not wake up with my throat slit, thank you very much."

"Do you know what it is like to be collared? To be collared just like a dog, signaling that you are somebody's property that can be sold just like a sword or food?"

"I'll wager that it is hell, but I still would like to not die," Belial persisted, but Rhoswen could see that his determination was wavering.

"Please, Belial." Belial turned his eyes to his friend. He sighed.

"Oh, all right. Wait one second; I have to fetch a file." The man turned around and rummaged through his supplies. When he found what he was looking for, he walked back over to Rhoswen.

"So why did you come to me?" he asked Gawain. "You know you could have done it yourself."

"Well, blacksmithing is not one of my better talents, as you know," Gawain replied a bit sheepishly. Belial had attempted to teach the knight the basics of blacksmithing, but hadn't had the best of results. "I didn't think that Rhoswen would appreciate me slicing open her neck when the file slipped."

"Fair enough." Belial continued sawing at the silver for another half a minute before the file went completely through the metal. Quickly, he pulled back to avoid cutting Rhoswen's skin.

"Turn, please," he instructed. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, Rhoswen realized, and really, she couldn't blame him.

Rhoswen complied with his wishes. When she was settled, he began working on another spot on the collar. By the time he once more sawed entirely through the collar, he was sweating even more. "Well, somebody certainly did not want that to come off," he commented. Turning, he tossed the silver into the cooling fires. He would melt it later.

When he turned around, he was surprised to find Rhoswen hugging him tightly. He looked down at the energetic woman before him. "You will never know how grateful I am!" she exclaimed. "Thank you so much!" Her blue eyes were alight with joy, and to be honest, Belial was a bit surprised at her reaction; the man hadn't expected her to be this excited about being freed of that collar. But then, he'd never been a slave, or collared.

"You're welcome," he replied with a slight smile. Rhoswen released him, then practically pranced over to Gawain.

"Here." Gawain gave Belial a handful of silver coins. "Thank you, my friend." He shook Belial's hand, and clapped him on his back. With one more "thank you" from Rhoswen, the knight and the assassin left the smithy, with Rhoswen practically skipping, and Gawain struggling to keep up.

Mentally, Gawain shook his head. She was the one who was so nervous about another assassin, so why was she no longer paying much attention? He fingered his dagger, ready to draw it at a moment's notice, and allowed her to enjoy the fact that she no longer had to wear that slave collar.

"Shall we find you a room now?" he asked.

"Yes!"

He smiled at her enthusiastic reply.

* * *

And so the beginnings of Rhoswen's freedom from Maunrus have begun. You also learn a bit more about Rhoswen.

Well, please review! Also, thanks so much for reading!

Priestess


	12. An Awkward Silence and a Sleepless Night

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intend to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

**_LANCELOTTRISTANBABY, this chapter is for you! Thanks so much for reviewing! I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate the continued support!_**

**_

* * *

_**

_I can't escape this hell  
So many times i've tried  
But i'm still caged inside  
Somebody get me through this nightmare_

_-_**Three Days Grace

* * *

**

Mentally, Gawain shook his head. She was the one who was so nervous about another assassin, so why wasn't she paying that much attention? He fingered his dagger, making sure that it was ready to be drawn, and allowed her to enjoy the fact that she no longer had to wear that slave collar.

"Shall we find you a room now?" he asked.

"Sure!" He smiled at her enthusiastic reply.

* * *

In a comfortable silence, the two walked to the knights' corridors. 

"This is Tristran's room." He pointed to one. "Mine." He pointed to another. "Dagonet's. You already know which one is Arthur's. Lancelot's. Galahad's. And this one will be yours."

"Why can't you just label whose room is whose?" she muttered.

"But then it wouldn't be fun!"

"Fun?" She thought about it for a moment, slowly registering what the blonde had said. "Wait- _Fun?_ How is it fun? I'll probably walk into Tristran's looking for Dagonet's."

"Alright," he amended, after thinking about what he had said, "it is not really fun. It is more like fun_ny_!"

"Do I even want to know why it is considered amusing?"

"Not really."

"I thought so."

He led her to a room which was next to Galahad's. He showed her in. There was a bed, a desk (the reason for which it was there was lost on her,) a chair, a closet and a dresser. It wasn't as nice as her accommodations at Maunrus', but she could live with that.

She could live in almost anything now that she was no longer living on Maunrus' property. Rhoswen could not be happier at that moment. The last remembrance of her slavery to Maunrus was gone. Now all she had to do was free her mother and then she would be totally free of Maunrus.

She turned around and threw her arms around Gawain's neck. "Thank you. It is wonderful!"

He raised an eyebrow at her enthusiasm, but only said "You're welcome, Rhoswen."

"May I get my things from my other room now?"

"Of course."

She pulled Gawain along, leading him to the housing near the tavern as he laughed at her eagerness. Rhoswen laughed with the knight, more carefree than she had probably ever been in her entire life.

Unlocking the door to her room, she invited Gawain in, and then set about in packing her things. She threw all of her clothes in an old bag that she had used to bring her clothes from Maunrus' property, and grabbed a necklace that Aislin had given her and then put it on. She hadn't worn it because it was silver and no poor farmer's daughter would have been able to afford a piece of jewelry like that. Rhoswen quickly put on the necklace.

She was not at all sorry to leave that room.

Now extremely happy, Rhoswen chatted excitedly with the blonde knight next to her, deciding that ten minutes not on guard would not kill her. Hopefully.

"Can I visit Enya? Of course, if you have somewhere else that you need to be, then I would understand…" She trailed off.

He smiled. "Of course you can. Come, I'll show you the way to the stables." They took off, with Rhoswen chatting to the man about everything that came into her mind. Gawain thought that he would never again see a person so cheerful.

Rhoswen attempted to memorize the way to the stables from her room, but soon gave up. There were far too many twists and turns to remember the way in one trip.

When they arrived, Rhoswen immediately spotted Enya and let out a squeal of happiness to which Gawain shook his head. He would never understand women. They were so… foreign and strange.

"Hey, baby," she whispered to Enya, stroking the black horse's head. "I am so sorry I haven't visited you. You know I will _always _love you.

* * *

Her first night in her new room was entirely eventless. 

The bed was far nicer than her previous one by the tavern, and it was very easy to fall asleep. Even though her new room was not nearly as decorative, she found the plainness of it oddly comforting. The second day she slept wonderfully as well. She was sleeping almost better than she had most nights on Maunrus' property, which was surprising. But the third night did not pass as well as the other two nights.

_He was there. He was standing over her, laughing as she nursed her cuts and bruises. His handsome face was wearing a smile. He was wearing a malicious smile; one that conveyed his amusement at her dilemma. "Do you not remember that I am your master and that you are to obey me at all times?"_

_Her mouth hurt. She could feel a thin trickle of blood dribbling down her chin. She anxiously licked her lips and tasted the coppery tang of her blood. She wanted to spit that blood at him. She wanted to lash out at him. Anything that he would not like. But she couldn't. No, she couldn't. She owed it to her mother; her mother had carried her and borne her, and she owed it to her not to betray her in a single act of hatred, no matter how much she wanted to._

_"What is it, sweet?" he cooed. "Do you want to kick me? Do you want to spit in my face? Well, do not be so ungrateful, dear Aidan, for I have a little present for you. I am sure that you will love it!" _

_He signaled to somebody with a small wave of one of his fingers; it looked like he was beckoning somebody in._

_Two men dragged a figure in. When she saw who it was, she gave a small gasp of horror. The prisoner had dropped to his knees, not having the energy or the will to stand._

_She dashed to him, and the two guards allowed her to reach him because of a small nod from Maunrus. Rhoswen buried her head in the man's shoulder, his dark brown hair tickling her nose, and wrapped her arms around him, before once again looking at Maunrus with stricken eyes. "No! NO! You can't! Oh _please_! Don't do this! If you do not, I shall find a way to repay you, and I swear to you that you will never regret it! _Please_!" she wept. _

_He just smiled cruelly and she cried even harder. _

_She kissed him, hoping- praying- that this would not be their last kiss, but all the while knowing in the back of her mind that he was going to die; Maunrus would make sure of that. She had disobeyed him. She had loved him. She had not devoted everything that she could to her work._

_They were then pulled away from each other. He was pulled back even farther so that he was but a few feet from the wall and his hands were tied up on orders from Maunrus. She could tell he was nearing death from his mistreatment. She could see it. There was so much blood. _

_He was exhausted, shaking from the cold, hurt… so very cold... And by the way he had kissed her back – well, she could feel all that. And it was terrifying her. That man she had known and loved- that strong and proud man- was gone. Vanished. The man she had loved was not there anymore. Oh, his love for her was still there, she could see that, but that man she had known was now nothing but a trifling, poor prisoner. He was a prisoner to be pitied, for he had given up hope. He was defeated and that knowledge scared her more than anything had before._

"_Say good-bye to him, Aidan."_

"_No," he croaked, his throat dry from lack of water. "Maunrus, sir." Those three words, those three simple words conveyed his agony, and they conveyed his desire to live._

_So he knew he was going to die. That frightened her as well. He never begged. Never. He was too proud._

"_NO!" she sobbed, struggling to escape the grasp of the two guards, and almost succeeding. She nearly whimpered in pain as their grips on her arms tightened unbearably. "Please. Oh, I love you! I love you, I love you!" she gasped, desperately reaching a hand out to him after having torn an arm away from the weaker of the two guards._

_He acknowledged her words by mouthing 'I love you.' Nothing more, nothing less. He had always been a man of few words._

_"How touching," drawled the Roman. Maunrus pulled his prisoner's head back by his curly hair, exposing his throat. He was too weak to fight the Roman off. He wanted it all to be over. He wanted all the pain to go away. Maunrus slit the man's throat._

_"NO!" she screamed, giving a sob. "No!" She tore herself from the other man's grip and rushed to his side. He was bleeding horribly. There was a jagged gash on his throat. He was dying slowly and terribly. She cradled his head in her lap as he struggled to draw in breath. After a minute, his chest stopped moving, and she realized he was dead. Faeolan wad dead and it was all Maunrus' fault!_

"_I told you not to love anybody," he hissed, not caring about the blood that was on his expensive tunic. "You are but a piece of property. You are _my _property. You are a slave, and slaves have no emotions! You live to serve me. You live for nothing more than that. You should have remembered that; if you had, he would not be dead."_

_She had been thinking the exact same thing as his last words. Would he live if she had not been so stupid as to love him?_

_The young woman was bent double, with her hands covering her face as she wept. Rhoswen did not reply. She did not look up to meet Maunrus' eyes because she did not want to let him see the dullness in her eyes that she was sure was there. She was sinking in hopelessness. She had nobody now; she had nobody that would make her desire to live. He'd taken everybody away from her. He had imprisoned her mother, he had killed Aislin, he had forced Calhoun to end it, and now he'd murdered Faeolan. _

With a start, Rhoswen woke up from her nightmare, tears leaking out of her eyes, and strands of her hair matted to her face. It had been almost a month since she had dreamed of Faeolan's death. She needed somebody to hold her. She needed somebody to give her comfort. Almost anybody would do.

She pushed off her sheets and padded to the door to open it. She studied the doors intently, trying to remember what Gawain had told her.

Whose door was whose? Rhoswen did _not _want to go into Tristran's; she did not want comfort from the scout. Besides she wasn't sure that he would even know how to comfort anybody. Neither did she want to go to Gawain's or Lancelot's rooms because she knew there were barmaids in their rooms and that would just be awkward.

The young woman sighed and shut the door and sat on her bed, studying her hands. She looked around her room and spotted another door that she hadn't seen before.

It obviously led to Galahad's room for his room was next to hers.

Should she? She hoped Galahad was in a good mood; he probably was because he'd been moved back to his room earlier that day, much to Dagonet and the healer's annoyance. They wouldn't have allowed him back in there if it hadn't been for his murderous mood. She took the chance and went over to the new door.

Opening the door, she loudly walked into the older knight's room, trying to make him wake up so that he would not wake up to see Rhoswen in his room. She closed the door behind her. He did not wake up. "Galahad?" she said. "_Galahad?" _

He gave a start and had reached under his pillow before seeing who it was. "Rhoswen?" he mumbled, blinking in an attempt to wake up.

"May- may I… sleep here tonight? I'll understand if you say no, but I had a bad dream, and well, I really do not want to be alone right now. I am sorry I woke you up, but I didn't think that you would appreciate waking up later and seeing me in your bed."

He gave a mental groan of annoyance as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The moonlight gave just enough light for him to see. Rhoswen was in nothing more than a shirt that reached only a third of the way down her thigh that revealed almost more than it covered. Just his luck. "Of course." Damn his chivalry!

"Thank you," she said, and kissed his cheek, and as she did so, realizing that the young knight was naked. She could make out his muscular arms, his muscular back… She cleared her throat and received a strange look from the older knight. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell. My back still aches fiercely, but it's far more bearable now."

Rhoswen clambered onto the bed, and laid down on it, near the edge of it so that she would not to disturb Galahad. "Good," she muttered. There was an awkward silence before they bid each other good night. After about fifteen minutes of twisting and turning and mangling the sheets, she finally snuggled up to Galahad's chest, head underneath his chin, making sure that she was above the sheets; that would prove to be embarrassing if she wasn't, considering the fact that he wasn't wearing any clothes and she wasn't wearing much more than that.

_Great,_ he thought sarcastically. _This is just wonderful. _That was his last thought before he fell asleep.

* * *

"Did you know what I saw last night, Gawain?" Lancelot asked Gawain, who did not look very interested in what the other knight was saying. He looked more interested in his food, which wasn't surprising; Gawain loved his food. "I woke up, and went to Galahad's room to give him his drink that Dagonet is making him drink- it smells terrible by the way, I cannot believe he is making me give it to him, but anyway- I saw Rhoswen…" Lancelot smirked at Rhoswen who glanced up from her food, alarmed and wary at what Lancelot would say next, "cuddled up next to Galahad wearing naught but a _very_ short shirt with the sheets all twisted no doubt from a previous… activity. They were quite adorable too, I must say! What an cutecouple." He turned to the fuming assassin. "But Rhoswen, why, you are quite a naughty woman! He was supposed to be resting and healing! I cannot believe you would do such a thing!" 

She glared at him, slapping his shoulder. "We did no such thing that you are saying and you know it, you arrogant, lying pig!" Gawain laughed, and she whirled on him. "You! I can not believe you are laughing at me! You are supposed to be on my side." Her eyes narrowed. "What is so funny?" she demanded of him. Lancelot kissed her cheek and she reached after him. "I'll get you later, don't you worry," she hissed at him before turning back to glare at Gawain who was still laughing at her. The curly-haired knight fled, looking over his shoulder at her and laughing manically at her. She stuck her tongue out and sneered at him and he smirked, more than satisfied with how the conversation had ended.

"The more you deny it, the more inspiration you give him," said Gawain, who had finally stopped laughing, slinging an arm around her shoulder, which she shrugged off with a huff. He smirked at her and then took pity on her. "Don't worry. You will get used to him as time goes on. He is not just victimizing you. What he is teasing you about is nothing!"

"You speak as though you've been tormented terribly by good old Lancey," she commented, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak; she knew very well that Lancelot had harassed Gawain about many things; for after all, they'd known each other for about twelve years.

"You have no idea! He had the whole damnable place believing for quite a while that Galahad and I were lovers. He chased my barmaids away for a little while because they didn't know what to think! It was horrible," he whined with a shudder of distress at the thought of the tragic lack of barmaids. "And now I still have women who are interested in Galahad asking me what Galahad is like in bed. That and if they can have a threesome with me and Galahad."

She choked on her drink, before beginning to laugh at the blonde knight, who attempted to look stern before giving up and laughing with her. A few people turned around to look at them, much to her amusement.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I was wondering about the two of you." He gave her an inscrutable look. "What?" she said. "I am very serious here! All I can say is that I am glad I am not the only one who thought that!"

He shook his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered, tucking a wayward blonde strand of hair behind his ear. She giggled.

"May I join you two when Galahad gets better?" she purred, trailing a seductive hand down his chest.

"Absolutely unbelievable!" he said to his hands before going back to eating his food.

She smiled and asked, "Is that a yes?" with her hands venturing lower. Gawain swallowed slightly, using all of his self control- she was just a girl, albeit a more knowledgeable and teasing one- before returning to his food once again, eating with a little more vigor than was necessary.

"For the love of the gods, you are worse than Lancelot! At least he gives up after a while. Why do I have a feeling that I will_ never _hear the end of this?" He tried to focus on something other than her hand but to no avail. He slapped her hand away. "He also does not do _that_! Rhoswen stop that or you will owe me!"

"Who says that I do not want to owe you?" she whispered into his ear and nibbled on the lobe.

"You just love to tease me don't you?"

Rhoswen grinned and patted him on the head with the offending hand. "Of course! What in heaven's name am I supposed to do with a puppy like you if not tease you?"

Gawain raised an eyebrow seductively.

"Don't you dare answer that Gawain!"

"Why not? You do not want to join us after all?"

"Join who in what?" asked Galahad as he stiffly sat down next to Gawain, making sure that his wound did not touch anything. Rhoswen and Gawain began laughing. "What did I say?" he asked crossly.

"You do not want to know, Galahad," said Rhoswen, trading a grin with the blonde knight next to her.

"But he has a right to know, after all, because it does involve him."

"Know what?" Arthur sat down next to Rhoswen with a plate full of food.

"Gawain and Galahad and I are having a threesome." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Want to join us and make it a foursome?" Galahad sputtered.

"I will pass up on that, but thank you all the same for the kind and generous offer."

"I will join in if he won't," Lancelot chirped, having returned from his room.

Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be up to it, Lancelot! And I still haven't forgiven you. _Don't you dare!_" she snapped when she saw him open his mouth.

"I was not going to say anything except that I am hurt that you invite Arthur but not me." She gave him a look that said she did not believe him in the least.

"Lancelot, you have Arthur and Morgaine; you don't need the three of us to satisfy you," she said with a bright smile. Lancelot and Arthur looked disgusted at the thought of sharing a bed with one another. Morgaine was one of the barmaids, and she was one of Arthur's favorites. Morgaine was a small, petite woman with very dark wavy hair and an exotic look to her.

"I take it Gawain told you about what I said about him and Galahad."

Rhoswen smirked. "What do you think?"

"I think that you are insane."

"Thank you."

* * *

_A couple of things. First off, I apologize for the wait between these two chapters. My stupid internet hated me and has not been letting me use this computer._

_As I have seen it stated in many different places, Arthur has such a lack thereof of women- (many writers portray him as an honorable man who does not bed barmaids, and there is nothing wrong with that.) However, I think it is better to portray him as a man who is like his men; he's an average guy in that time period who happened to be a great leader. :) _

_Also, this chapter was a bit of a filler, so obviously not much happened. You do however get to learn a bit more about Rhoswen, and her relationship with the knights is getting better, but they are still wary of each other. Things will pick up in chapter 13, and especially chapter 14. Updates should be quicker, (or at least I hope) because I have almost all of chapter fifteen written and half of thirteen and fourteen. However I do have to send them to my beta and I don't want to overwhelm her… _

_Anyways, love y'all, my lovely readers and reviewers! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to hear what you guys think!_

_Priestess_


	13. Bedwyr and a Bath

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

Jenni, this chapter is dedicated to you! Thanks for the reviews!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rhoswen smirked. "What do you think?"

"I think that you are insane."

"Thank you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It had been eight days since she had told Arthur that it had been Maunrus or one of his friends who had ordered her to kill him. She had been more than lucky that none of Maunrus' assassins had attacked her; she was sure that Maunrus had, by now, figured out that she had betrayed him.

It had been relatively peaceful the past eight days at Hadrian's Wall. This was because it was spring and not the time of year when many of her people attacked the Sarmatian knights and the Roman fortress. It also had to do with luck.

Rhoswen closed her blue eyes, relaxing as the warm water lapped over her body. Her brown curls clung to her neck, shoulders, and upper back, her hair made darker by the water. She stretched her legs, just enjoying the feel of the warm liquid on her skin. Her body relaxed even further, releasing its previous tension. Despite her extremely carefree appearance, she was alert as ever, ears waiting to pick up the slightest hint of an intruder. Next to her lay a knife, unsheathed and ready to be used if she was attacked.

Rhoswen knew that it probably was not smart for her to be alone in the bath with only her knife, but Arthur and his knights had gone scouting. She had also survived many years as an assassin and while she was not as battle hardy as the knights, she was more than capable of defending herself.

The young woman was social, but there were times that she just needed to be alone and away from others. Due to having been around people for most of the past eight days, her temper had been growing increasingly foul, and she had almost angered Tristran with some of her comments—not the smartest thing to do. Arthur had been forced to interfere lest he wanted a dead Rhoswen.

Lancelot had blamed it on her 'womanliness,' as he had delicately put it, and Rhoswen had decided not to point out that she took herbs. Let them think what they would. That was fine with her if it meant that perhaps they would be nicer to her when she snapped at them once in a while.

Arthur would not yet allow her to go for a ride to get away from Hadrian's Wall for a few hours, and having a knight along with her would not be alone time; besides, Arthur could not spare one of the knights for a useless activity like making sure that she did not ride off, never to be seen again.

The only weapon Arthur had allowed her was a knife, and she had possession of the knife only when she was alone. As much as Arthur would have liked to trust her entirely, he couldn't. Not until he had absolute proof that she indeed no longer worked for the Roman.

Droplets of sweat formed slowly on her flushed face as the heated Roman bath water warmed up her natural body temperature. Steam rose from the water.

She heard a few voices growing gradually louder in the near distance, the echoes reaching her ears. They were male voices, rowdy and joking. They were voices that spoke Latin with Sarmatian accents.

This was not good. _Not _good at all. She was naked, as were most people who relaxed or swam in the public baths and who were accustomed to Roman culture. She had been enjoying the privacy, and the fact that the bath was heated, unlike the one in her room.

Rhoswen counted seven different voices in the distance, which meant all seven of the knights were there. One knight she might have been able to handle, maybe even two of them, but not seven knights. All the knights were coming to bathe, to wash off the grime from their quick trip to scout the woods. Rhoswen was a bit shy when it came to being naked in front of men. It made her feel vulnerable, and she didn't like that at all.

She scrambled out of the bath, leaving waves in her wake. Some water sloshed onto the floor around the edge of the pool. The young woman leaped for her shift, almost slipping in her haste, and then cursed mentally again. Why had she worn a dress _today_ of all days? Her shift was white, and would hide very little from sight. Besides, even if it was not see-through with water, it would cling to every part of her body, leaving little to the imagination.

Gawain and Galahad entered, soon followed by Bors and Dagonet who were chatting away, then Lancelot and Arthur, and finally Tristran. "Damn," she muttered. "Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_! This is just lovely!" she snapped to herself, hiding her face in her hands.

At the sound of her voice, Gawain looked away from his friend as he noticed the former assassin standing before him dripping wet, and very nearly naked. Her shift had been wrapped around her hips, but was not doing a very good job as it was mostly transparent and had been hastily tied, and she was holding a dress to cover her chest with her elbows. His eyes were glued to her when Galahad looked to see what his friend was gawking at.

Slowly Rhoswen raised her face from her hands in mortification to look at the knights before her.

Bors and Dagonet bumped into the knights in front of them, who had come to a halt. They then turned their gazes from each other to where Galahad and Gawain were looking. By then, the young woman before them had turned a dark red.

Lancelot stared at her, though her naked form was not new to him. He had seen her once before. But that felt like it was a life time ago. Rhoswen was not beautiful, but neither was she plain. She was pretty.

Her whole body was muscled, more than was normal for a woman—aside from those who were Sarmatian or maybe Woad. She had obviously developed her muscles from years of training (the knights could not help but wonder how they had missed that when she'd posed as Aidan) and she also bore scars from her line of work; she was no dainty Roman noblewoman who spent her time doing needlework and gossiping.

She glanced around the knights, eyes darting with a panicked air; not one of the men had a cloak, or even a long shirt that would cover anything more than what her shift and dress already covered. Her eyes darted down to her useless dress, then to the half-naked men before her.

The knights stood in nothing more than their breeches, having come from their rooms. On each of the knight's chests and arms were pink and white seams, which marred their skin.

"Rhoswen!" said Arthur, then cleared his throat.

"As nice as this lovely meeting is, dear knights, I rather say that I do like being dressed instead of naked," Rhoswen said.

Lancelot smirked, and Gawain gave Rhoswen a rather satisfied glance. She sent the ceiling a 'why me?' look before motioning for them to turn around. They did so, looking amused at her embarrassment.

"It is alright to turn around now."

Lancelot cocked an eyebrow. "If you did not want to be intruded on and seen naked, then why did you come here? And why did you take off your clothes? It is a public bath. Well," he amended, "public for the knights, at least, and any other people who work at the tavern, or as guards."

"It _was _empty until you men came!"

"Ah," he said, as if that explained it.

She shot him a disdainful look as though anything he said was beneath her. That made the curly-haired knight's smile grow wider.

As the knights were stripping to get into the bath, a young blonde-haired woman entered and promptly turned a deep shade of crimson. The men slid into the water, relaxing, oblivious to the newcomer.

"I will just go—" she stuttered.

"Oh, no," said Rhoswen, rushing over to her, trying to spare her from her own previous embarrassment. "Do not leave on their account; they are not worth giving up such a comfort as this. Really, it will be nice to see another female around here."

The woman still did not stop blushing.

"Hello," greeted Lancelot, who had not undressed yet as he had been talking with Rhoswen, and for some reason had worn a shirt. That was unusual for him when he went to the baths. He approached the pair of women until he was just a little behind Rhoswen. "My name is Merlin Decimus Maximus, commander of the Woads' army," he said in his best Roman accent, not even bothering to mimic the accent of a Woad speaking Latin. "I am usually blue, but they made me wash the paint off. I also usually run around half-naked and screaming, but they just could not bear the beauty of my unclothed body, so they made me put these on," he said with a charming grin.

"Don't listen to him; he thinks he is funny," Rhoswen said with a gentle smile, taking in the young woman's embarrassment. "His name is Lancelot, not Merlin." She shot a glare at Lancelot who merely smirked, more than pleased with himself. "Stop being so bloody annoying," she hissed. "You are _not _amusing!" She put a smile back on and turned back to the girl before her. "What is your name?"

"Elayne, lady. I am one of the new barmaids."

"A beautiful name for an even lovelier woman," said the Sarmatian.

Elayne flushed.

"Stop it, Lancelot. She does not want to sleep with you."

"No, thank you," said the blonde quickly.

Bors snickered.

The knights were watching the scene before them with amusement and had stopped talking so they could see what happened. "Well, Elayne, my name is Rhoswen," she said, ignoring the curly-haired knight who was looking a little offended. "I expect that we will see you later tonight if you work at the tavern. Come swim with us for the moment."

Rhoswen heard Arthur asking Lancelot, "Merlin, eh? Since when did Woad magicians have Roman last names and Roman accents?" She wondered if she should mention that she was a Woad, and then decided not to.

"And what kind of name is that?"

Lancelot shrugged. "It was the first Woad and Roman name that I thought of." He undressed and then joined his fellow knights in the bath.

Rhoswen took that moment to study the younger woman before her. She looked to be about fifteen years of age. Golden hair fell in waves to her mid-back, and blue eyes peered out curiously beneath long lashes. She had a delicate nose and full, pink lips. Rhoswen noted the girl's modest demeanor, and thought that perhaps she was the daughter of a farmer.

Tristran was in the corner, eyes closed, being even quieter than he usually was. Normally, he most likely would have contributed at least a word in the conversation about Lancelot's choice of name. But instead he seemed as though he had not paid attention to anything that had just been uttered. He almost looked as if he were asleep.

The tips of his brown hair floated around him. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, indicating that he was not sleeping well, and that he was troubled. Something was not right, and she was consumed with curiosity and a bit of concern, despite her rocky relationship with him.

Forgetting Elayne momentarily, she walked over to Arthur and knelt by his head. "What is wrong with our enigmatic knight over there? Has something happened?" she asked. Despite the anger and betrayal she still felt over him abandoning her, she could not help but be worried about Tristran. She was more than a bit curious as well.

With a grimace, Arthur whispered back, without opening his eyes, "It is a story that is to be told at a later time. But I suppose you should know, as you are going to be around and among us." She titled her head to the side and shot the scout one last curious look before going over to Elayne.

Rhoswen said to the blonde young woman, "After our bath, you can borrow my shift."

Gawain raised an eyebrow. Apparently Rhoswen was going to be naked in the bath, despite the fact that she did not like it. Her generosity took him by surprise.

Once submerged in the water, Elayne and Rhoswen talked.

"So Elayne, where do you come from? If I'm not mistaken, your accent sounds almost Frankish."

The blonde smiled. "Yes, lady, I am from Gaul. My family moved here after my father was killed by Saxons. I came to Hadrian's Wall when my mother and sister died of sickness."

"I am so sorry! Are you all right?"

"I get by, lady."

Rhoswen, Elayne. My name is Rhoswen. If we are to be friends, please do not call me 'lady.' I am of no higher standing than you."

Perhaps she could risk it and become friends with Elayne. Maunrus was far away. He would never find out that Elayne was her friend. At least that was what she hoped desperately. It was lonely having no friends besides Aidan. Rhoswen would not allow herself to cause the knights any more pain than she already had. They deserved that, at least.

"As you wish, Rhoswen."

Rhoswen smiled.

"I like your name," the Frank said shyly. "It is very pretty."

"Thank you. It means 'white rose.'"

"A pretty meaning for a pretty name," Elayne said. Again the former assassin smiled.

"You sound like Lancelot."

The new barmaid blushed.

Rhoswen decided to move the conversation away from the knight. "When did you arrive at Hadrian's Wall?"

"No more than a day and a half ago."

"Ah. No wonder I have not seen you around. But then again, I have not been here longer than eighteen days."

"I spent the day looking for a job, and then decided that working at the tavern would suit my needs. Taverns are always looking for more hands to help out."

"So you saw Vanora, yes?"

"Yes I did. She is quite an amazing woman. Very imposing. Scary. almost. 'Tis no wonder that she runs the tavern in place of the owner; she seems like a no nonsense type of woman."

Rhoswen saw Bors nudge Dagonet and say proudly, "That's _my _woman."

The brunette smiled. "That she is, Bors." She turned back to Elayne. "You should hear some of the stories that the knights have been telling me," she said with a grin.

Gawain seized the opportunity to tell his favorite story about when Lancelot had not left Vanora alone and had spent a whole week trying to get the redhead into his bed. His attentions had annoyed Vanora so much that she had finally whacked him on the head with a pitcher.

Havoc had ensued with the knight because of the blow to his head. Apparently his antics when being a little dizzy and in pain had been incredibly amusing. Rhoswen had not heard this story so she listened intently, grin growing wider with each word Gawain spoke. By the time the blonde knight had finished his story, the two women were giggling and Lancelot was sulking in the corner, more than a bit embarrassed. Needless to say, it was not the curly-haired knight's favorite story.

After a good half an hour had been spent laughing at Lancelot, a man entered and Rhoswen regarded him suspiciously, making sure that he was not one of Maunrus' assassins.

The newcomer had curly hair in a shade so dark brown it was almost black. If it were not for the fact that his nose had been broken, he would have been a handsome man; she supposed he was, even with his broken nose. Blue eyes twinkled beneath long lashes. He had a kind face. He looked like the type of man you could trust.

Rhoswen could see by the broadness of his shoulders and his obvious muscle that he most likely was a knight or blacksmith.

"Bedwyr!" said Gawain. "Join us."

"And us wonderful women," chipped in Rhoswen, deciding that if he was Gawain's friend than he was not a threat.

Bedwyr raised an eyebrow. "I do not think I've met you before, for I would have remembered such beauties as you two. Would that I had come to Hadrian's Wall earlier!"

"Ah, I beg your pardon for I have forgotten my manners, dear Bedwyr! I have forgotten to introduce you!"

"Don't let him fool you, Bedwyr. He has no manners."

Loftily Gawain ignored Rhoswen. "This is Rhoswen, who should be avoided at all costs, and this is Elayne who is sweet and kind; everything that Rhoswen is not. They are both new here."

"Bedwyr." Arthur thought about the name. "Ah! You are the new transfer. Welcome to Hadrian's Wall."

"Thank you. You are Artorius Castus?"

"Yes."

"Well in that case I offer Gladrius' greetings and his best wishes." The Sarmatian made a deep bow. "He wishes he could greet you himself, but alas he is occupied at a northern British post."

Arthur's mouth twitched. "Does he now?"

"Has he lost weight or is he still the fat grumpy man that I saw last?" Bors asked.

Bedwyr smiled. "'Lord Gladrius has—alas—not gotten off his fat ass for more than a few hours, like the typical Roman he is." He caught himself quickly and glanced guiltily in Arthur's direction. "Oh! My apologies, Lord, for I had forgotten that you were there." Once again he bowed, though this time in apology, not greeting.

If Rhoswen was not mistaken, Bedwyr had not forgotten Arthur's presence. In fact, it seemed like a judge of character on Bedwyr's part.

Arthur smiled slightly. "I care not. You are free to express your opinions in my presence so long as you do not get yourself in trouble with anybody else. I have had to bail my men out of many situations too many times." At this, he gave Lancelot a pointed look. The curly-haired knight looked away innocently.

"Such a poet's tongue!" said Gawain sarcastically to Bedwyr. "Tell me, have they gotten rid of your talent with a harp as well as your smooth tongue or do you just not choose to use it with a fellow Sarmatians?"

"I can still sing and play the harp. I would rather be a bard instead of a warrior," admitted Bedwyr.

"Pray tell, Bedwyr, how you know the lot of them," questioned Rhoswen, curious at the fact that it seemed like Bedwyr and Gawain were catching up. It seemed that they were very good friends. Her 'pray tell' received a '_now _she is polite' from Gawain.

"Gawain and I grew up in the same village," he supplied as he pulled off his shirt, finally decided that he would join the other knights.

Once he had gotten in the bath, he sat down next to Gawain so they could begin to catch up on all the missed time.

"So why exactly were you transferred here, Bedwyr?"

"Apparently Romans do not appreciate being beaten up. But I received my punishment." Now Rhoswen saw the lashes on the man's back.

"What did they say this time?"

"I'd rather not say, should your royal highness accept such a refusal from his baseborn servant."

"I suppose it is all right this time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As she dried off her body with one of the towels that were available, she regarded the knights and Elayne. The new barmaid and the knights seemed to be getting along well, especially Lancelot and Elayne. She made a mental note to warn Lancelot not to break the young woman's heart. The Frank seemed like such a sweet and wonderful young woman.

She slipped her dress on over Elayne's wet shift, extremely thankful that it was one of her thicker dresses. Quickly drying her hair by rubbing it in the towel, she bid everybody farewell, saying that she would be taking a quick nap in her room. Before she left, Arthur tossed her the knife that she had returned to him when he had entered the baths with his knights.

Casting glances around her, always on guard and ready for danger, she suddenly halted. All her breath left her in one shocked gust. Her eyes widened in horror. There, in the shadows, was Calhoun.

_How did he get here? When? Has he been watching me the whole time? Had he been in my room at night, waiting for the right moment, the moment when I went back into my quarters? Oh gods, oh gods, _oh gods. _Oh gods, save me! Please! _

Her eyes locked with his and he smirked arrogantly, and as he moved slightly she saw a flash of silver.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Priestess _


	14. Calhoun

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

* * *

_Caught up in your life  
Excuses are so lame  
You may be different but I' m still the same  
The reasons that you thought, the intention that you caught  
You say things are simple we both know they' re not  
You can' t let it go_

_**Sum 41

* * *

**_

Her eyes locked with his and he smirked arrogantly, and as he moved slightly she saw a flash of silver. Just a flash, but it was there. _Damn._ She had to get away. Tristran had all of her weapons (except for the knife that Arthur had allowed her to keep,) and she doubted that she'd get them back for a long time yet. Why had she left alone, without one of the knights?

Calhoun was a cold, fearsome man. He was also quite handsome, with tousled brown hair. Attractive, despite the scar that marred his cheek.

But his brown eyes were cold. So cold.

He was as pitiless as Rhoswen those few times when she had withdrawn into herself once after she had lost both Faeolan and Aislin in the span of two weeks.

He had put up a wall around his heart too- just like her- except it was easier for him to end any relationships than it had been for her to do so.

At one point Rhoswen and he had been involved ( before that the two had been friends), but Cal had become too much Maunrus' man for her.

He _liked _following Maunrus' orders; he _liked _his life as an assassin, with the exception of the lack of freedom. And Maunrus had appreciated that, for Cal did not wear a slave collar. In addition to that, he was paid handsomely, even though he was a slave. Out of all of the Roman nobleman's assassins, Rhoswen was second in ability only to Calhoun. (She had to think of him as Cal_houn!_ He was no longer her lover, or her friend. He was her enemy now, and she couldn't forget that. Not if she wanted to live.)

They had grown apart to the point that he now no longer cared for her in the least. It still hurt sometimes, but hell, she should have expected it. They were assassins. They weren't supposed to care for anybody or anything except killing.

When she met his eyes, she truly realized that he truly no longer liked her in the least. How could this have happened? How could they have quite possibly loved each other once?

Nobody cared about her anymore; nobody loved her anymore. The more she thought about it, Gawain's past words clutched more fiercely at her heart, even though he hadn't truly meant what he had said. He'd snarled them in anger when her actions had caused Galahad to be terribly wounded, and regretted them since.

"_It adds up, Aidan! You may not want to help him just because somebody actually _cares_ if he lives or dies, but the rest of us obviously care for him. We are brothers, but you _obviously_ wouldn't understand that because _nobody_ cares if you live or die!" _His words were true, whether she liked it or not.

At that moment, Rhoswen loathed Maunrus even more than she had before. He had taken everything away from her: Calhoun's friendship and love, Aislin, Faeolan and his lover, her mother… she hadn't even known that it was possible to hate a person as much as she hated that Roman. If it hadn't been for Maunrus, she wouldn't be alone in the world. If it hadn't been for Maunrus' actions, then she wouldn't have had to bear the pain of losing her best friends and lovers. Without Maunrus' evil influence on her life, she could have had the chance of happiness.

* * *

_Rhoswen and Calhoun lay side-by-side, lsprawled on the dewy grass, staring at the stars that twinkled merrily in the dark sky, and enjoying the cool spring air. He rolled over to plant a kiss on her neck and she giggled merrily; the sound not forced like any of her other laughs in the past couple of months. Pushing him away, she rolling away from him playfully, giving a small yelp as she rolled too far and began tumbling down the very small hill. _

_He grinned too, glad to hear her giggle. She hadn't laughed much in these past seven months. Not since Aislin had died. After Faeolan had been killed, Aislin had decided to run away. (Faeolan had been Aislin's cousin, but they hadn't let Maunrus know that for he would have separated them.) Rhoswen would have accompanied her, had her mother not been held captive._

_He pounced on her and began tickling her sides. At first she only squealed in indigence, but those squeals became giggles, and those giggles then became shrieks of laughter as she gasped for air, struggling to get away from his hands. She was so ticklish, and Cal loved to torment her on that. _

_Rhoswen slowly registered their position, because it really was hard to think when somebody was tickling you mercilessly. She could see Cal had been aware of their position, but had done nothing, leaving the choice of what they would do next up to her. _

_She smiled. Despite his background, he was such a gentleman, at least when he was not in Maunrus' eyesight or earshot. Or in eyesight of any of Maunrus' fellow assassins. _

_But really, she couldn't blame him. He had a life there; he did not want to be sold off to another man. Maunrus might not treat his assassins wonderfully, but they had more freedom than many Romans allowed their hired servants. _

_Rhoswen's thoughts turned back to the man above her. She might just be in love with him. With a chuckle, he abruptly stopped his ministrations. He lowered his head to kiss her, and she eagerly met his lips. _

_Calhoun broke the kiss. He flopped down beside her onto the soft grass. Rhoswen snuggled up to her fellow assassin and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to his chest. She felt utterly content; this was one of her favorite things to do. It was a wonderful change from all of the pain and killing that surrounded her. _

_Time alone with Cal was so rare, and even more valuable than it was scarce, because when they could truly be themselves around each other. _

_Maunrus did not like it when his assassins formed bonds, especially with another piece of his property, and was likely to sell the less valuable of the two people off so as to keep a distance between them, thereby severing the ties between them._

_But she did not think about what would happen if they were caught. All she did was enjoy her time with him._

_

* * *

_

It was just another hurt in the long list of wounds both physical and mental in her life. She sighed mentally and bit her lip momentarily, and returned her entire focus to the man in front of her.

How was she to get away ? There was no way that she was going to turn her back on him. _Damn it! _This was a matter of life or death here and where the _hell_ was one of the knights? She knew it was quite unreasonable-stupid really- to expect one of the knights to be around; she had been heading back to her rooms to sleep and they had continued to bathe. Wonderful.

No longer did she feel as though she needed a nap. She needed to be back in the baths and in a safe place. She would worship any god who got her back to the baths alive.

"Cal, I know you are there," she called out softly, never ceasing to continue moving, though she stumbled backwards and began pedalling backwards towards the baths. She just did not want to turn her back to the man and become a moving target for which Calhoun could use to practice his knife throwing skills. If she saw the knife coming she would probably be able to drop down to the ground in time, so that the knife would miss her. Probably.

"Calhoun." He might as well reveal himself; she knew he was there. He began to slowly advance.

"Calhoun," she amended, trying to keep the peace between them. "Why?" she asked, softly, so softly he had to listen hard to hear the words, although he had known that she would ask him that very question. He had known it and had prepared himself mentally and emotionally for it.

"Why do you do this? How could this have happened? Do you ever think about it? Do you ever wish that we could have been regular people who could live regular lives together?" She knew it wasn't wise to talk to him, she knew she should keep running backwards, screaming, hoping one of the knights would find her or hear her, even though they were in the baths, too far away for her to be heard.

But Rhoswen could not give up on him despite the betrayal she felt at his intentions. She could not ignore the hope she harboured that Calhoun would realize what he was doing was wrong and allow the knights to protect him as well. Even as she thought this, she knew that while she could live with being guarded temporarily, to Calhoun it would not be the same as the freedom that had enjoyed when he was working for Maunrus. Living under the protection of Arthur and his knights until Maunrus died was simply not the same as living under Maunrus' orders.

"That ended long ago," Calhoun said simply, keeping the conversation short and not-so-sweet and ignoring the emotions that her words invoked in him. It hurt him to know that Rhoswen thought that he no longer cared for her in the least, but he supposed that it was better that way. Better she was betrayed by a man who she believed did not love her, than a man who loved her but valued his freedom more than her life.

And with that, he lunged for her, brandishing the dagger she had already seen. He could not waste time, for every second that they stood there, regarding each other was time for him to begin reconsidering his decision as to whether or not follow Maunrus' orders. Already he was doubting whether he should carry through with this, But killing Rhoswen would be worth it. Freedom to travel and go wherever and whenever he pleased -the simple fact that he would be his own person and nobody's property- was worth it.

Ducking, and maneuvering around him, she lunged forward and delivered him a vicious kick to the back of his knees, but holding back, for if she had truly wished to hurt him, she would have cracked his kneecap. His leg crumpled, and he fell to the floor with a curse.

Not about to let his promise of freedom escape, he rose with a muttered swear of pain and lunged for her, slashing with the knife. Rhoswen was fast, but not fast enough. His swing left a slash in her tunic and a cut that would probably need stitches later. If there was a later, that was.

She mentally shook her head. She could _not _afford to be distracted, not when fighting him. Not Calhoun. With a more junior assassin, she would have been able to not focus entirely on the fight, but not when fighting a man who was two years older than her and far stronger than her. Calhoun was also man who knew her very well, perhaps almost as well as she knew herself.

She had confided her secrets in him; her greatest fears, her triumphs, everything about her. Oh, how he must laugh looking back at those memories. He must laugh thinking about how she had loved him. What a fool she had been to love him so. She should have known that it would not last. For her, all good things came to an end too early. She had grown to accept it.

She was getting soft, she thought to herself. _I have got to focus! How can you lose your concentration, all your discipline, in the span of two weeks?_

Rhoswen finally drew her knife when she realized that Calhoun would not back down. She had given him every chance to leave her alone; to side with her and turn against Maunrus, but he would not.

She wished that it hadn't come to this. She wished that Maunrus could have left her alone, even though she knew that thought was as useless as a hare fighting a wolf who had decided that it would make a tasty meal. She wished that it was not Calhoun who was trying to kill her. She wasn't sure if she could kill him and she knew that only death would stop Calhoun once he put his mind to something.

She chewed on her lip, a bad habit of hers, momentarily before lunging forward. Calhoun did not like being on the defensive; he'd much rather be the aggressor. To attack him meant that he would be somewhat out of his comfort zone, and she needed every advantage she could get, no matter how small it was. The advantage could be as small as a grain of dirt, but it would still be an advantage, and perhaps the difference between living and dying.

He spun out of the way before attacking her. Their knives locked and he bore down with all his strength. She dropped to the ground and rolled a few paces away before springing up, knife once again at the ready.

She slashed at him, leaving a cut on his arm before springing by him. She saw over her shoulder that he acknowledged the wound with a tilt of his head. That said he was mildly impressed. Not that it really mattered.

She still could not believe that she was fighting Cal for her life.

So consumed in her self-pity, Rhoswen did not register the change in his grip on the knife. She did not register the fact that his fingers were now on the knife blade.

All she was focused on was attempting to flee from him. She didn't care if it was cowardly, because what she wanted was for Calhoun to go away. She wanted to live and she wanted her ex-lover to live too. It was foolish of her; she knew that.

Rhoswen should have realized when he did not come after her that he was going to throw the knife. She should have realized that, but she didn't. She had been foolish and she would pay for it.

She gave a small cry of pain as the knife landed deep in her upper back. Calhoun's aim had gotten a lot better. That was nice to know, she thought sarcastically. She was thinking of completely idiotic things; it did not really matter that Calhoun's skills with a knife had improved, it didn't make any difference if it had just been a lucky throw. What _did _matter was that he had managed to hit her.

Rhoswen could hear Calhoun draw another knife. Lovely. Well, it was time to flee before she found out if he could hit her twice in a row and turn her into a living pin cushion.

She tried to ignore the intense burning sensation in her upper back. Rhoswen wrenched the knife out of her back and gave a cry of pain as white lights danced before her eyes.

She looked down momentarily and saw that the knife was covered in blood, although it was not like she had expected to see anything other than her blood.

She ignored the now-sticky shirt as she ran. All she could think of was making it to the baths before Calhoun caught up with her. She did not run in a straight line; rather, she ran in a somewhat zig-zag line so that it was harder for him to aim another knife at her. It took more effort and Rhoswen could not run as fast as she could when running in a straight line.

She stumbled and fell to her knees before gathering herself and standing up hastily, almost tripping in her haste once more. She ran until she could breathe no more. She ran until the muscles in her legs were burning and she felt like she was going to faint from exhaustion. She ran faster than she had ever thought was possible for her. She ran until she almost passed out from the pain that the knife caused her. She ran until she could hear Calhoun's footsteps getting farther away. She had an advantage over him; she knew her way around Hadrian's Wall, he did not.

Rhoswen finally just ran in a straight line. She could not afford to waste the energy in trying to dodge another attack.

It was becoming a bit harder to see. The edges of her vision were blurring. She knew she was losing a lot of blood, but her life would surely be forfeit if she did not make it to the baths in the next minute.

Finally she could see the door to baths which looked akin to heaven, or at least to her. She could have cried in relief. The baths were a haven. It meant safety. It meant she would be under the protection of the knights once more.

She shoved the wooden doors open and they banged shut behind her. The young woman dropped to her knees, breathing raggedly, tears of absolute pain squeezing their way out of her tear ducts. It was impossible to keep them held in. She had thought that she had known pain, but she had never received any wounds quite like this.

Distantly she could hear the conversation stop and muttered swears of surprise. She could hear a scream from Elayne, orders from Arthur, splashes as the knights hauled their way out of the pool to throw on breeches.

She could hear somebody talk to her in the distance, asking her to not pass out, telling her to stay conscious. Rhoswen wasn't sure who it was. She could not tell if the voice was male or female. She couldn't discern who the face was that was in her extremely blurry vision. She could not even see the person's hair colour.

Finally, now that she was in safety, she allowed herself to pass out, but before black entire consumed her world she thanked every god she could think of for allowing her to make it back to the knights without passing out.

* * *

When Tristran had heard her enter, he was just as surprised at everybody else that she had come back. Why had she come back to the baths? She had been going to take a nap and they were surprised that she hadn't gone back to her rooms to sleep.

It wasn't until she had fallen over that they had all realized that she was wounded. Extremely observant of them.

He cursed out loud, along with a few of the other knights, but not for the same reason as them. Rhoswen just could not leave him alone in his melancholy, could she? She had to go and get a knife stuck in her back. Of course, it would not be too bad to be rid of the terribly annoying young woman.

Elayne had screamed. Bloody women. Always so loud and annoying. They made too much noise.

Bedwyr looked shocked. It wasn't every day that a woman was stabbed in the back, although from the angle the knife was sticking out, the knife had probably been thrown; not that it really mattered though. All that mattered was that she had been attacked and there wasn't going to be much peace for the next day or so. Not when her attacker was still out there; Arthur and his exasperating conscience would make sure of that.

Well, it was not like Bedwyr knew her true history, or anything about her. Yet. So he supposed that the other Sarmatian had a right to look a bit startled.

Arthur ordered Galahad to guard Elayne and make sure that nobody attacked her too. Tristran was a little surprised at the order, and had shot his commander a questioning look. It was quite obvious that it was one of Maunrus' other assassins trying to silence her. Nevertheless, he said nothing and began to dress.

He listened to Arthur's orders as he put on his breeches and boots.

Gawain was sent to the healers to ready a bed and make sure that one of them was prepared for Rhoswen. He also had orders to be on the lookout for any suspicious people around Hadrian's Wall.

Tristran was told to carry her there_why had Arthur given the little brat to him_? he thought with annoyance. Arthur knew that he had no friendly feelings towards the young assassin, and that she possessed none for him in return. It was probably one of his entirely ridiculous and stupid ideas to make them 'friends.' The whole thankfulness thing was not going to bring them together; it was completely idiotic and only a fool would think it would work. Surely Arthur knew that. Arthur may be a lot of things, but he was not a fool.

With an inward sigh, he picked up the woman. She did not stir and he had not expected her to. It was nice not to hear the obnoxious woman chatting everybody's ears off when all he wanted was a little quiet. Her irritating talking could really get on your nerves.

Lancelot's face had hardened and he looked a bit upset.

Tristran knew that Arthur's best friend was quite an honourable man (though not as honourable as Arthur. He supposed nobody could be as chivalrous as the half-Roman,) despite that he could be almost as disturbing as himself at time. It was against the basic rules of chivalry to kill or wound or harm a woman in any way unless she had given you no other possibility to survive. In other words, you could not kill or harm a woman unless she held a knife to your throat or had attacked you. And despite what little good the scout felt about the woman, he realized that she probably had not attacked anybody.

Tristran swiped his bangs out of his face and ended up leaving a bloody streak on his forehead. Grimacing at the feel of the stickiness of the blood on his skin, he realised that he would probably have to wash his face again. Taking baths, despite what everybody thought, was something he thoroughly enjoyed. The heated Roman baths were probably the best thing the blasted country had offered the world.

Tristran could tell it was going to be a long day.

* * *

_Dun dun dun…_

_:D That was seriously very much amusing to me. Please review y'all! Even just a word would be wonderful. Well, best wishes! Until next time,_

_Priestess_


	15. Tears of Pain, Tears of Despair

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

Randomisation, I've dedicated this chapter to you, as promised. I am extremely thankful that you have continued to read and review this story! Thanks so much!

_The lies and deceiving is what I' m believing  
Up to my knees, so hard to breathe  
It helps that you aren' t there  
Can' t figure out what' s the right thing for me_

_**Sum 41

* * *

**_

"Mama!" she cried, thrashing on the bed, blood spreading once more on the already stained sheets. "Oh Mama, where are you?" She moaned, and the sound was guttural, coming from deep in her throat. It was a sound of complete and utter pain.

She had a fever, brought on from a poison on the other assassin's blade.

Tristran pursed his lips. She would die soon if her fever did not break. Fevers were a terrible business; almost as bad as cauterization, though many people did not survive fevers, whereas most people survived cauterization.

He should feel joy at the fact that she was most likely going to die, for she had killed Gareth, even if she had somewhat made her peace with the knights. But strangely he felt no satisfaction. No contentment. It wasn't that she was a girl; he had killed many a Woad woman, and it wasn't that she had a bad past. He knew plenty other women with a history that was even worse than Rhoswen's. He just didn't know why he was upset that she was most likely going to die. He wouldn't feel a terrible pain at her passing, but he would not be totally carefree and that irked the scout. It was probably because he had gotten to know her. A bit.

He tore his eyes from the tortured girl before him. Rhoswen thrashed about, tears streaming down her face, not from only physical pain he knew, but emotional torment.

"I'm sorry Mahon! It's his fault! I tried. I _tried!_ Forgive me!" The scout had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the word 'Mahon.' She wept, extending a hand out to her unseen friend, begging for his forgiveness. "Aislin, Faeolan, you too! Forgive me!" she pleaded. "FORGIVE ME! I DID NOT MEAN TO! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN MAUNRUS!" she screamed, the obvious panic she felt amplifying her voice. The young assassin was lost in painful memories. "DON'T KILL HIM! PLEASE, I BEG IT OF YOU! I PROMISE I WILL _NEVER_ DO IT AGAIN! HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! PUNISH ME, NOT HIM! DON'T DO THIS! OH PLEASE! KILL ME INSTEAD! NOOOOOOO!"

Dagonet noticed his friend had paled considerably beneath his dark tattoos. "Tristran?" he asked quietly. "Tristran, what is it?" It was obvious to the big knight that something was very wrong with the man who was leaning against the wall.

Tristran looked like he was fighting a battle with himself, which was not uncommon with the scout, especially lately, and was losing. Badly. He shook his head slightly so that his brown hair fell even more onto his face, hiding his expressive eyes from the other knight. Before Tristran had done that, Dagonet had seen a glimpse of his eyes. After many years together, all of the knights could read his eyes, and whatever Tristran was feeling he did not want Dagonet to know.

He got up hastily, sending a distressed look- _that_ Dagonet could see- to the girl on the bed and bolted out the door, not even bothering to close it in his haste to escape the healers' room.

Dagonet looked at the girl, then the door and back again. _I wonder what she said, _he thought, _to upset him. _The scout was so careful, so guarded, of his emotions that the plain panic and pain in his eyes was totally alien to the healer. The giant of a man sent one last concerned look to the door, and settled back to watch the feverish assassin before him, hoping that she would pull through.

* * *

Tristran stormed to the tavern, thinking that he needed a drink. He needed a very strong one. One that would hopefully take away his memories for a couple of hours. 

Many drinks later, he glanced around at the merry making with obvious disdain at how bloody cheerful everybody was; especially the knights, with the exception of Galahad who had already retired to his room with a barmaid.

He had a conscience that always came back to bite him once and a while. He had a far bigger conscience than he led everybody to think. He did not want his brothers-in-arms to know his weakness, he did not want the knights knowing of his pain. He did not want to get close to anybody again. Especially after Drustan and Isolde had died.

He could still see his brother's face, he could still hear his voice. Drustan had looked so much like him: they could almost have passed as twins if not for the fact that he had quite obviously been five years younger.

Curling his lip in a scornful manner at his melancholy, he decided it was a most perfect time to leave the busy tavern. He needed some time alone. He was going to have to ask Arthur for permission to scout; especially since he hadn't gone scouting in a week.

Gawain knew better than to cross Tristran when he was in such a mood like this. Ever since he had been in the room with Dagonet and Rhoswen this morning, he'd been in a terribly vicious mood, and he was frightening to a point that he was disturbing even to Gawain. Gawain was good friends with Tristran, so it was a measure of how terrifying Tristran was that Gawain was slightly scared of his friend. He made a mental note to avoid the scout for the next couple of days on the practice fields.

Tristran had watched over the injured woman with a clenched jaw and a dark and dangerous glint in his eyes that, to be honest, frightened him. When the scout was like this, Tristran was likely to be merciless and absolutely vicious. Not that he could blame the man for being upset; only a week ago was the date when they had watched Isolde die about a few years ago. Isolde had been the one person who had truly accepted him for who he was; she had been the one person who had loved him unconditionally besides his hawk and horse.

The bar wenches and whores avoided the scout even more than they normally did. He scared most of them, but he was terrifying when he was in dark moods like the one he was in at that moment.

He watched Lancelot say something to Tristran that obviously upset him. He saw Tristran's hand shoot out and grab Lancelot's collar. Tristran let go after snapping something at him and stormed out. Gawain prayed that his friend did not cause any further trouble or run into anyone who would challenge him.

Gawain watched Lancelot rub his hand over his throat, and glare after the scout with a dangerous glint in his eye as well. Wonderful.

Tristran was a dangerous one to cross, especially when he was in a foul mood like the one he was in, and Lancelot bloody well knew it. The blond knight cursed the fact that Lancelot thought that Tristran wouldn't do anything to him if he teased him when the latter was in a bad mood. That Lancelot thought that he was invincible.

* * *

Bedwyr could not believe that his childhood friend had changed so. Bedwyr had been warned by Gawain that Tristran was no longer the same, but he hadn't truly believed him. Sure, he could see that Tristran was… withdrawn in the baths, but he hadn't had much time to talk to him. 

Perhaps it was all the scouting. A lot of scouts tended to be withdrawn, for they spent much of their time on their own, but not to this level.

This Tristran was so new to him.

Tristran had always been quiet. It had just been his way. But now Tristran did not seem very social. While he had always been ready to run off and practice his skills with a weapon in the forest alone, he just seemed so… detached. It was just disturbing.

Bedwyr hated Rome. He always had. That was how the Sarmatians had been brought up. But he'd learned to hate Rome even more in his service to it. He saw how Rome took and destroyed what was not theirs to take and destroy. He had seen his family and friends die. And he had seen his family and friends become totally different people after experiencing the horrors that went along with being a knight.

His way of coping was to sing and play the harp. Galahad's way was to deny it; at least that's what he had seen so far. Lancelot questioned everything; Gawain drank, slept with women and tried to be too cheerful. And it appeared that Tristran's way was to be anti-social and become a blood-thirsty man.

He sighed and glanced down dejectedly at his half-empty mug, suddenly ignoring the well-endowed, flirtatious and foolish barmaid who sat in his lap. He turned his head away as she went to kiss him and she gave a 'hmph' of annoyance as her lips connected with his not-so-clean-shaven jaw line.

* * *

Dagonet had fetched Gawain from the tavern to watch her for any signs of the fever worsening or breaking. He hated leaving Rhoswen alone like that, but he had to speak with Arthur; he liked Rhoswen, but Tristran was his friend from Sarmatia and he was far more important than the young woman. 

Taking long, purposeful steps that brought him quickly to Arthur's door, Dagonet contemplated the cause of Tristran's panic and distress, but could not come up with a reason that the scout would be so disturbed by the word 'Mahon'. After all, it was only a name. What was the name to Tristran? He could not understand the scout's reaction in the least.

He knocked loudly on the door, and that relayed the panic the big knight felt.

Arthur opened the door, and the expression on his face meant that he obviously expected the girl to be dead. Dagonet shook his head slightly, and Arthur's shoulders were relieved of some of their previous tightness. Arthur was such a kind and forgiving man who just wanted peace that he would have felt guilty if Rhoswen had died because he had forgotten to send a knight with her, and he had promised to protect her. He would have felt guilty if she died, even though the young woman had tried to kill him.

The commander gestured for his knight to come in, and Dagonet wasted no time in sitting down on a chair and beginning to speak.

"Something is wrong, Arthur," Dagonet said to the man. "Something she said hurt Tristran badly, and he is terribly upset about it. Gawain said he was in a horrible mood this afternoon and this night in the tavern."

"What did she say?" urged the Roman tiredly and worriedly. Perhaps he could figure out why his scout was so worked up, besides the fact that Isolde had died around this time of year.

"Something about a 'Mahon.'" Arthur choked on the water he was drinking.

"Pardon?"

"I said-"

"Yes, yes, I know what you said. Jesus Christ," he snapped, rubbing his head. "Why now?" Dagonet looked at Arthur in askance.

"What?" Arthur cursed low and foul again, and then shook his head.

"He doesn't need this right now. No matter what he says, he still is emotionally wrought over Isolde's death. And he's been wearing himself into the ground scouting, trying to forget." Both men shuddered at the memories of Tristran's horse bringing him home with cuts and gashes, and all the many times when Tristran had overexerted himself scouting and had been brought back near dead from his injuries.

"What?" Arthur turned his brown eyes to his knight and Dagonet could see concern and fear. Fear of what? "It's her; the girl from the forest."

"Girl? Forest?" Dagonet couldn't understand what Arthur was talking about. There were a lot of girls in the forest; what did Rhoswen have to do with any of them.

"Remember the huge Woad attack twelve years ago, around a year after you arrived here?"

Dagonet nodded grimly. Many knights had lost their lives in that battle. His cousin had been one such knight, and all of the them had either lost a close friend or family member. While all of the knights formed tight bonds, some were closer than others to another brother-in-arms.

"And you remember how different he had been? Before Isolde?" Again he received a nod. "Tristran had gone scouting and had chanced upon a young Woad girl of about five or six summers of age, her friend being shot, and she captured. His hatred of Woads and his compassion for the young girl warred against each other, and he had to choose: save the hapless girl and risk not getting back to Hadrian's Wall in time, or abandon her to her fate and hurry back so he could prepare us for the battle."

The big knight nodded. It all fit together. Rhoswen's ill-disguised hatred of him, Tristran's reaction to "Mahon."

"Bloody hell, Dagonet, he got drunk from the memory of it all the time. He's got a sister her age. But he's probably convinced himself he was imagining it by now. His guilt was terrible. He was tortured for weeks, months even, about it. Say nothing Dagonet; the two must work it out themselves- if they can. All we can do is watch and pick up the pieces.

He sighed and rubbed his head momentarily. "Now, we must go visit our lovely guest. We mustn't neglect him," Arthur said coldly and rose. He was going to take out all his anger on his uninvited, unwelcome guest.

* * *

The first thought of hers when she woke up was that Tristran looked angry. Angrier than normal. The second was that she was terribly weak; she was also hungry. 

Rhoswen realized she probably was recovering from some sort of fever.

"Go aw-" she cleared her throat, feeling how it hurt; she must have been screaming. "Away. If I desired to see somebody sitting in a chair next to me after I have woken up, just staring at me-which mind you is a bit strange- I would most certainly pick somebody else that was not grumpy," she murmured wearily to the scout. "And not you."

"I bet," he growled and left.

Galahad entered and sat down on the chair that Tristran had just previously occupied. He looked terribly upset. He looked about as irritable as Tristran had looked, and that really was saying something.

"What is it?" She swallowed, trying to coat her throat; it hurt terribly.

"You lied to us, Rhoswen! You lied to _me _and you _promised _me, and you swore an oath that you would tell me the truth! Gods, have you been lying to us the whole time? Is your name even Rhoswen?" he demanded, hurt making his voice louder than he had intended.

"Yes, of course my name is Rhoswen," she said puzzled. What the hell was he talking about? Were his wits addled or something like that? Why would her name not be Rhoswen? "What did I lie about? If I have wronged you again, and lied to you again, than I know not what I did."

"You lied." It was all he could force out; it didn't answer her question, but it was all he could say at the moment. "You _lied._" He didn't know why he felt so betrayed. She was an assassin, a liar. Why had he believed her? She'd lied to him once before, he should have known that she would again! Maybe she _was _nothing but a lying bitch. But for some reason, he wanted to doubt that. They had sworn to protect her, and she owed him the truth!

"What? What did I lie about? I thought we had already settled that I had lied to you about my name. I already told you everything."

"No you didn't, you lying, manipulative bitch!" he snapped, not able to hold himself back. He shouldn't be cruel to her; she was lying in the healers' and had almost died. But she had lied! He couldn't get over it. He had thought that they were friends. Almost. As close as Rhoswen would allow him to be, and as close as Galahad would let her be.

"What. Did. I. Lie. About!" she snarled, so angry at his accusation that she struggled to sit up, which took her over half a minute to do so, and almost tore open her stitches. "You are not being fair, Galahad! You are accusing me of lying, but you do not tell me what you say that I lied about."

"Oh, you do not know, do you? Well, let me refresh your memory. Remember that little tale of yours regarding your dear mother who was held captive by Maunrus? Yes? You remember now, hmm? Well, we found out the truth from your lover."

"My lov-wait, my m… what my-what! No, no, no," she said, almost hysterically. "Maunrus has her. He told me. He cut off her hair once, and gave it to me to prove that it indeed was her. He has her prisoner."

"_You think I am lying, little girl? Do you think that I do not have your mother?" With as much courage as her seven years could muster, she said boldly, "prove it!" _

_He held up a chunk of hair. "Does this assuage your doubts?" He made sure that none of the strands caught the light so that its color could be seen._

_Aidan/Rhoswen did not know what 'assuage' meant, but she could guess. "Let me see it!" she demanded, reaching for the hair, tears making her accent thicker. He had her mama! He had her! He was going to kill her!_

"_No," he replied, and tucked it away in his pocket, smiling to himself; she'd been so easy to convince. What a little fool. Well, at least she had been smart enough to ask for proof. It said that there was promise for her not to turn out as a complete idiot like some of his other assassins. _

"No, liar, I know better! He does not have her! You murdered Gareth and tried to kill Arthur to save your mother? Is that why YOUR BLOODY MOTHER ISN'T EVEN ON MAUNRUS' PROPERTY!" bellowed Galahad, voice rising with each word, and his voice cracked with anguish. His voice dropped to be but a whisper. "Is it?" He felt like a fool; he had believed every word that she had spoken. He had wanted to know that Gareth hadn't die because she felt like obeying a Roman's orders, but apparantly he had.

"Oh gods," she moaned, sobs wracking her frail body, both from pain and sadness. Her face was buried in her hands. "He does not have her? Aislin, Faeolan. _Gareth. _All those people. No, he must have her, he _must!_ Oh gods, what have I done? I've killed so many innocent men. He lied to me. He lied! I could have run away! I could have saved them!" she cried to herself, unknowingly talking out loud. She rocked herself from side to side. Aislin (oh, she should have run away with her! Maybe then she would not have died. Maybe she would not have been captured!) and Faeolan had died for naught. He'd died to save her when she could have run away.

"Ah, gods. Why do you play with me so? Why torment me? What have I done but attempt to save my mother? Oh gods," she said, and he could see that she was absolutely heart-broken because of his words.

"We encountered one of your fellow assassins. Calhoun?" he was determined not to let her tears move him. Every word she was uttering was a lie. Every tear was just an act.

She was lying to him. She knew her mother was not on Maunrus' property. It had been a lie to save her skin. She hadn't followed Maunrus' orders to save her mother. It was a trap to lead them to Maunrus' property to be killed!

"I am quite sure you know him. For after all, you two were lovers once, weren't you? Oh yes, dear 'Cal' talked. He was quite… willing to provide us with information once we removed certain parts of his body. And among that information is the fact you lied to us!"

"I did not lie to you! I swear to you that I thought that he had her."

"You have lied to us before; why is this any different?"

"I did _not _knowingly lie to you!"

"You're an assassin. A liar. A cunning, devious, lying assassin. Why should I believe you?"

"I didn't lie to you!" she cried, and instantly regretted raising her voice as each word had taken a huge toll on her throat. "Why won't you believe me?" she whispered.

Galahad realized that she was speaking the truth, but would not give in before asking one last question. "If he was your lover, then how come he did not tell you that Maunrus did not have your mother?" Rhoswen had been thinking that exact question.

"He knew the whole time?" she whispered, eyes wide, tears threatening to spill out; she dashed them away, and willed herself not to cry any longer; he'd already seen her cry for a minute or two.

She had hoped that she had misunderstood what he had said; she had hoped that Calhoun hadn't known, that he hadn't lied to her, that he hadn't allowed her to think that Maunrus had her mother on purpose. But obviously he had.

There were so many emotions that he could see in those eyes of hers. Hurt, betrayal, sadness… He could get lost in those eyes of hers. Galahad laughed slightly to himself, mentally. He sounded so cliché. He sounded like one of those lovers in a badly written bard's poem about two tragic lovers.

"Yes, Rhoswen," he said gently, "he knew."

"Oh gods," she whispered.

"Aye," he agreed.

"Did he say why, at least?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Why?"

He bit his lip, knowing that the woman before him would be hurt greatly at his answer to her question, no matter his answer; it didn't matter the reason, for Calhoun had still betrayed Rhoswen. "Maunrus, he offered him death or freedom from being enslaved to him."

She couldn't put all the blame on Calhoun. After all, everybody wanted to live. But still. After all that had been between the two of them, after their past, she just couldn't believe he'd betrayed her so readily.

The young Woad also registered that Calhoun was dead. Gone forever. No matter how badly he had wronged her, she still loved him a little. Of course, that wouldn't matter because he was dead, and he had died almost killing her so that he could achieve his freedom.

And that's when the tears really started to fall. It began as a few tears fighting their way out of her tear ducts which she fought back, dashing them away, horrified that he would see her weakness.

"Why is that you think you have to be strong all the time and hold the world on your shoulders?" he demanded.

Rhoswen tensed up even more at his words and he could see that she was still fighting off tears. For a long time she remained silent, gulping so that the tears did not spill out. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. Willing herself not to give in to weakness.

There were times that Rhoswen would not allow people to see what she was feeling; in those eight days when she had been awake he had learned that. She was not as guarded as Tristran was, but all the same she guarded her heart and built a wall around it. Just like them all she had lost too many people in her life that she had loved to be open to everybody and form new relationships. She could get along with people and have fun, but when it came to becoming friends she would not allow herself to make any.

"When I was an even younger woman than I am now, Aislin had bought this lovely crystal vase from Gaul for me. A birthday present. It was a wonderful birthday present," she said dreamily.

"She had had it specially made for me because she knew that I had always fancied one of the vases in the market, but it had been sold the day before. So instead of buying one in the market, she went to a crystal specialist and had him carve a vase for me. She had him make a vase even more wonderful than the one in the market.

"She had earned the money by selling her skills as an assassin. Maunrus let us do that sometimes; it gave us a feeling of freedom, however small. A happy slave was one who was more willing to obey, so he said. Less willing to bite the hand that fed it. And he was right in that respect, I suppose.

"Anyway, it was absolutely beautiful; I adored it. It had so much sentimental value for me; Aislin was my best friend in the world; my confident. When Maunrus"-_may he forever rot in hell after I get my hands on him- _"killed her, it had become even more precious to me; it was one of the only things I had left of her besides memories and a necklace.

"Not only did it mean so much to me in an emotional way, but it was also an exquisite vase. It was so lovely and I treasured it! I treasured it like a dragon treasures its hoard.

"I especially loved that vase when the sunlight shone through the window because the glass changed the color of the light that danced on the floor. One moment blue light shined on the floor; and in another moment the light was red. She used to laugh at me when I would study it for a while. I would just sit there and watch the light that was reflected. That was why she had gotten me a crystal vase and not a glass one. It was more beautiful in the light than even the most intricately made glass vases. Besides, it was more durable.

"I also used to gather flowers and put them in it at times. It made my room smell nice and it looked even lovelier with fresh flowers in it. It made my room seem not so dismal and sad like my life was. It was a bit of joy and cheerfulness in my dark and depressing life.

"But then one day I saw a tiny little crack in the glass, a crack so small you would only notice it if you looked very, very closely. She had pointed it out to me before she had died, but I had forgotten it until that moment. I loved to study that vase, examining every inch of it. If I imagined hard enough, I could see her putting flowers in it." Rhoswen poured her heart out to Galahad, lost in memories. She knew she was rambling, but at that moment, she didn't care.

"I touched it ever so slightly- just lightly enough to test the crack to see if I could bring it to a craftsman or he had to come to me- and the vase shattered into tiny pieces on the floor, breaking apart; I have no idea how it happened. It shattered into these tiny, tiny pieces that could not be put back together again and made whole. It couldn't be put back together to reform the original vase." Her voice broke. "Just one tiny crack, one incredibly small-miniscule- crack, and it came apart and it was unable to be put back together again. It was broken forever." Her voice wavered then, and she glanced at Galahad who was looking at her with an odd expression. She couldn't read it, so she hoped it wasn't pity.

"Do you understand now, Galahad? Do you understand now why I do not like to-_cannot_- give in to any weakness? I will never be whole again, should I give in. I will never be able to pick up the pieces once I give in to it all."

She had just entrusted her soul in the young knight's hands and hoped that she had chosen the right person. And it turned out he indeed _was _the right person. She may have killed his brother, but he was a wondrous man; it was why all the women loved him besides his good looks. He could listen and keep their secrets safe; he would forgive.

But then all he said in reply was, "it is alright, cry if you like; I won't tell anyone." She knew he had listened to what she had said, but he had chosen not to reply to it.

Those simple words, that wonderful, invaluable reassurance from him made the flood gates open. Those few tears that had leaked out from her eyes already soon became a waterfall-like stream of tears. As he watched her weep, the young knight could hear mumbled cries of regret and pleas for forgiveness.

He did nothing but watch her quietly, wondering if she wanted him to stay or leave. He tilted his head when she looked up momentarily, silently asking her that very question.

"Stay, please," she whispered through her tears. "I could not bear it to be alone right now. Please."

He sent her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Galahad still wasn't positive as of what to do with a crying, broken-hearted woman. She continued to sob wretchedly, crying and not knowing for all the world when she would stop, and how she would stop. She cried out years of pent up tears. Years of tears of pain, tears of absolute sadness, and tears of despair fell from her eyes as she cried her heart out.

Finally the knight made up his mind and decided to ignore the awkwardness of their situation. Galahad gathered her in his arms, allowing her to sob into his chest, ignoring the tears that soon soaked his tunic. His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, though managing to avoid the area near her wound, amazingly enough.

It hurt her wound to cry, but she could not stop those tears, and with each sob, she let out a hiss of pain.

She was not sure how long Galahad held her in his arms as she cried. An hour and a half, maybe, because she was getting the beginnings of a headache, and her wound was throbbing from all of her crying. An hour and a half was a long time to cry, and as she had said to him earlier, she was not sure if and when she would stop crying once she started.

It was sad to see this strong woman that had been through so much, but was still able to laugh, crying her heart out. It was sad to see this pretty (but not beautiful), arrogant, kind, fiery, seemingly heartless, annoying woman giving in to despair. It was sad to see that she had been betrayed by the man she had loved- the man who had loved her- when she deserved so much more for surviving all of the hell she had been through, even though she had done some many terrible things.

_What is it about her that makes me feel for her?_ Her story was enough to make many people feel pity for her, but he had met more women who had a story that was even more tragic than hers. Perhaps it was the fact that most of the time she did not give in to her horrible past; perhaps it was the fact that she loved life, and had fought to continue living so much. He really did not know.

She did not know how long it had taken her to fall asleep once again. She did not know how many tears it took for her body to run out of moisture to make tears. When she woke up, Arthur was sitting on her bed, studying her with an odd expression on his face.

Abruptly Rhoswen struggled to sit out, and gave a small groan of pain as she did so. "I did not lie to you! I swear I-" she croaked

Arthur held up a hand, immediately stopping her talking. "I know, Rhoswen, I know. Don't worry; I believe you when you say that you did not know that your mother was not held captive by Maunrus."

He could see the toll that Galahad's news had taken on her. There were dark circles under he eyes, indicating that she had slept fitfully (showing that not only had she had a fever, but she had also just received bad news,) and there was a dullness to her eyes that had not been there before. There had always been some degree of lifelessness in her eyes that he supposed would probably never go away, but it had increased greatly since she had last seen her.

"Now, what I have to say is not about your mother, and these words are for your ears alone. You, Dagonet, Tristran and I are to be the only ones to know, yes?"

"Alright." Rhoswen had to admit, her interest was piqued; she was fairly curious about what news or words that were for only her, Dagonet, Tristran and Arthur to know. After all, she was an extremely curious person.

"I know," he said simply, "about Mahon, and Tristran, and what happened when you were captured."

"Oh." She didn't know what else to say. She should have known that it would have been something like that as Tristran was involved.

"Yes, 'oh.' Tristran figured it out. Along with me."

"What did I say?"

"You were screaming about Mahon. And Tristran was watching you. Well, he is not doing too well at the moment. I think he's getting himself into trouble in the woods, but I trust him not to get himself killed."

"Lovely," she sighed. "Between you and me: Would it offend you that I am not entirely upset over that fact?" She knew what the answer was, but she wanted him to know where she stood regarding the scout.

"Yes, for he is like a brother to me. But to be honest, I would probably feel the same way you do."

"Good, because he has got a long way to go in making it up to me."

"Also, do not worry about Dagonet and I. We will stay entirely out of this. If you want to patch it up between the two of you, than that is fine with me. And, I am hoping you do. But if you do not want to, I will understand and Tristran will too." _I think._ "You do need to watch what you say near him and to him, Rhoswen, for he is not feeling very…benevolent at the moment."

She sighed. _Why do _I _get all of these problems?_ Seeing the look in Arthur's eyes then reminded her of the many problems that he too faced and she was being selfish in thinking like that. After all, he had to look after all of the people in Hadrian's Wall, make sure his knights lived so that they could see their home once more, and now the new added bonus: her. "Does this mean I get my weapons back?"

Arthur laughed. Only Rhoswen and Tristran would find almost being killed a blessing, just because they would get their weapons back. Although he could understand the real cause of wanting her precious weapons returned. She needed reassurance that she could protect herself, especially after the attack. "Yes."

"Thank you!"

"Rest now, and sleep, Rhoswen."

"That's what I've been doing for the past however-long," she grumbled, although he could see that she would not disobey him. Her stomach rumbled. "Can I by any chance have some food?" He smiled.

"Of course."

* * *

A lot has happened in this chapter. Arthur realizes who she really was, as does Tristran. And he's not too happy. I am enjoying this… 

Priestess


	16. No, Rhoswen, you can't!

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead because she's an obnoxious, manipulative bitch in both the movie and legends. So really, it's too bad I don't own this movie. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

_I miss that town  
I miss the faces  
You can't erase  
You can't replace it  
I miss it now  
I can't believe it  
_

_**Nickleback

* * *

**_

"Rest now, and sleep, Rhoswen."

"That's what I've been doing for the past however-long," she grumbled, although Arthur could see that she would not disobey him. Her stomach rumbled hungrily. "Can I by any chance have some food?"

The Roman commander smiled.

"Of course."

* * *

"You know," Rhoswen said to Arthur through a mouthful of food, "bread has _never _tasted so _wonderful!_" Her voice was so full of appreciation for the dry food that he had to laugh.

Of course, it was very hard for Arthur to understand her as her words came out as 'oo nneow, bred ha ne'er 'as'sed 'o woonefo," so she wasn't sure if he was laughing at her words (if they counted as words) or her lack of manners. The young woman guessed that it was a combination of the two.

She was surprised that Arthur had come back to her room. She was surprised that _he _was there and not another knight. After all, he had far more important things to do that watch a famished girl eat. She supposed he felt like he had failed her. Arthur's conscience would one day prove to be a problem for his health. More than it already had, anyways.

Rhoswen quickly slurped down the soup, wincing as the hot liquid burned her tongue and throat.

"You are a far way from being a royal Roman lady," he commented.

"I shall take that as a compliment," she said loftily, ignoring the insult and blatant hint.

"You would," he snorted.

"But you know, I _do _have manners," she protested. At the look he gave her, she continued, "well, that is, if I choose to use them."

"So I am not worthy of good manners?" he teased.

"No, you are not!" she said in her most haughty and pompous voice. "And in fact, such filth as thee shalt not come within my sight lest I faint from the horridness!" She paused and her voice lost all of its arrogance. "Is horridness a word?"

He raised any eyebrow.

"It is, is it not?"

"Go ask somebody else. I know not; I care not, too." He seemed to think the better of it. "Ah, never mind. _Don't you _dare_ get up, Rhoswen!_ If you do, Rangelle shall have my hide after she spent all that time patching you up," he warned.

"Well, it's your skin, not mine," she replied cheerfully, although careful to make sure that he knew that she was joking. An angry Arthur was not something to be fooled around with; he had all the power in Hadrian's Wall and her life depended on his good will. Fortunately he was a kind man and not unreasonable. As long as you did not insult his religion. Unless you were Lancelot. Then that was another story.

* * *

Rhoswen hated to think it, but she was lonely. Aislin wasn't there anymore - she had died about two and a half years ago.

She missed her sparkling eyes. She missed her friend's beautiful flaxen hair. She missed everything about her. Aislin had been beautiful, just lovely. So kind, too. She was like one of those perfect princesses from the tales, or a Goddess from the Greeks' myths. She had been envious of her best friend; it was hard not to be sometimes, she was just so… perfect. She had always listened. She'd always offered advice in a bad situation or sympathy when advice was not wanted.

The young woman had nobody to confide in now. She couldn't befriend Elayne, oh no. Ever since Cal had attacked she had realized that it was _not _safe to befriend the younger woman. Aislin had been able to defend herself, but if Maunrus learned of a friendship with Elayne she would be dead quickly, meeting an untimely end courtesy of one of Maunrus's other assassins.

So Rhoswen would have to live with shutting the woman out and push away all thoughts of friendship. She had to keep her heart cold, she _had _to; she could not lose somebody else. She would break; she had to shut everybody out of her heart, otherwise she'd never be able to resist the pull of friendship once more. But at least now she had a duty. A duty that would not fill the spaces of loneliness, left by the deaths of the ones she loved, but was at least something. It was so hard to be cold and shut everybody out while still being human enough to wish for a little fun.

Unbidden, tears sprang in her eyes. She could be strong no more; she'd run out of the energy to be. It was just too hard. It just hurt too much. She needed somebody. But she had nobody. It would always be that way.

* * *

Arthur had no great love for the young woman he was watching over; they could hardly be described as friends, but neither did he loathe her like he ought to. She had some... charm. Charm was the best way to describe it, he supposed. He did have to admit that, despite the trouble that she had caused him, and the pain, and the fact she could be terribly annoying, he did like her a bit.

He sighed. Since Uthyr, his father and previous commander of the Sarmatian knights of Hadrian's Wall, had died and then his mother in that horrible fire, the knights had been his brothers, his surrogate family. It was sad to think of all the men that had died serving a country they hated, even though he loved this land. Kai, Andred, Gwydion, Pellinore, Lyonel, Gaheris, Pelleus, Adromeath, Drustan, Gareth, Aggravaine, Geriant… there had been so many others. Too many. Far too many.

Some had lived only a year after their training had finished, others years. Whether they'd been felled by Woad arrows, Saxon axes, Welsh swords, fever, disease or infection, either way they'd died. He'd once commanded one hundred strong; now it was just the eight of them, including himself and Bedwyr. Instead of fighting beside him they lay in that sad little cemetery as Lancelot liked to call it. Ninety-four graves were there to be exact. He had lost ninety-four in thirteen years of service. Sure, it was far better number than the other commanders, for some of them had lost well over a hundred men, but that was different. _He _cared about his men. _He _was friends with the knights. _He _wanted them to live to see their home once more.

The night Tristran had warned them of the Saxons, the night Rhoswen had been captured, he'd lost too many men. Why could he not keep his brothers alive? Swearing, he banged his fist on the cold stone wall, welcoming the pain. It was due to his failure. He fell to his knees, teeth clenched and tears ready to fall at the memories of his failures.

He didn't deserve their trust, their love. He didn't deserve it. Not at all. It was they who deserved the trust he gave them and his love, and they deserved so much more than what he had to offer them. _They_ had been wrenched from their mothers and fathers at such young ages and forced to serve and die on the whim of the Pope and the Emperor, not he. He may adore Rome, but there were times he regretted his loyalty to the large Empire. He had lost too many friends. Far too many good friends.

Every day he lived in fear that yet another of his friends would die. That he would be one death closer to being all alone like Rhoswen was.

They hadn't died serving their families. They hadn't fought to the death to protect their loved ones. No. They had died because of battles they should not have fought in. It was all his fault! His failure had cost them their lives.

He didn't hear the door open and close.

"Arthur, it is not your fault. Why do you not see that?"

* * *

Arthur had looked up at him, tears glinting in his brown eyes, after hearing his words. It was obvious from the expression on the other man's face that he had not heard him enter, and had not noticed his presence until he had spoken.

The firelight glinted off the commander's unshaven jaw. Since Rhoswen had attacked the commander, the half-Roman had been loaded with problems. His wound, Gareth's death, finding out who wanted him dead… he'd been overwhelmed as those problems had just been added to the pile of troubles he already dealt with on a regular basis.

Lancelot could see how upset his best friend was, he could tell by many things. First and foremost it was the unshed tears,for Arthur _never _cried. Ever. Another clue was the subtle droop in his posture; instead of standing, or sitting straight and proud, there was a small slump in his shoulders. It was really only noticeable if you knew what to look for. And his jaw was clenched tightly. That was another giveaway.

The Sarmatian knelt by his friend and silenced a groan as he wondered how Arthur had been kneeling on the hard wooden floor. "Why don't you see that it is not your fault? We do not blame you! And the others, they love you; they'd give their lives for you, me included!"

"But don't you see? That is the problem! That is just it, Lancelot!" he whispered. "I don't deserve their loyalty and respect! _Your _loyalty and respect. Why can _you _not see that?"

"I cannot believe we're having this conversation again, my friend." When he received no answer, he became frustrated.

"I miss them too, Arthur! I miss them every hour of every day of every week, but I do not sulk in a room and throw a fit like a child denied its sweet, do I? No, I do not!"

Arthur's eyes flashed dangerously.

Lancelot knew he was treading on thin ice. He may be the other man's best friend, and Arthur may treat his knights as though they were equals, but there were times when it was made clear just _who _was commander, and who was subordinate.

But his friend's anger soon gave way to sorrow. His shoulders slumped and it hard to see that sag as he buried his face in his hands. When he finally raised his face from his hands his eyes were dry. They burned with sorrow, but he didn't shed any tears. He had to be strong for his men.

* * *

Gawain had seen the change in Galahad right away. He was his best friend of course, so it was obvious he would see the subtle change in the younger man's spirits.

He seemed more lost lately, not really knowing what he should be doing. That was an incorrect way of putting it; it was more like he did not know what to think any more.

Gawain was reminded of Galahad in his youthful years, when he acted his age and not ten years older than he was.

He had been like this when they'd just been taken. And it scared him.

* * *

Rhoswen was thoroughly bored after lying in bed for four days. "Tell me a Sarmatian story!" she begged him, suddenly amused by the prospect of Galahad acting like a bard or storyteller.

He raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless acquiesced with her demands. "I suppose so," he said slowly, attempting to recall a story that he could tell her.

Excitedly she clapped her hands. Galahad held up a hand to silence her so that he could concentrate on thinking of a story to tell her. After about two minutes of struggling with an idea, one finally came to him.

He told her a story of the Mother Goddess, a Sarmatian and a fallen knight.

"There once was a fallen knight and a Sarmatian woman. Now one day …"

Somehow, the story ended with a 'happily ever after.'

"Happy stories are ones that haven't ended yet," Rhoswen muttered bitterly.

Galahad had to agree with her.

"That was totally unrealistic!" she pouted.

"Well, 'tis a traditional Sarmatian story! I did not make it up! I apologize if it is not to your entire liking!" he said defensively, a little offended on her attack on a story from his homeland.

"Calm down, Galahad! I meant no offense by it." She paused and a grin slowly broke out and spread across her face. "Let me tell _you _a story, Galahad."

"Alright." He was a bit wary. Since when did Rhoswen tell stories? And why was she smiling the way that she was? The way that number Seven did when she was about to play a joke on Lancelot.

"Once there was a frog who watched a lovely princess play with her sparkly gold ball. But one day, she accidentally dropped the golden ball in the well. The frog, who strangely looked like the Sarmatian in this room, was happy to have a chance to please this gorgeous woman-ahem, as wonderful as myself- jumped into the well and hopped out with the precious ball in its mouth. She reached for the ball.

"When their eyes met they instantly fell in love. She began to rise from her position that she had assumed. The frog jumped down to follow her. As she placed her feet on the ground, there was a loud 'CRUNCH!' Looking down and inspecting her shoe, a green and red slimy mess could be seen sticking to her dainty slipper. With a shrug, she wiped her shoe on the grass and walked away. The end."

"I shall have to tell Bedwyr of that lovely story," Galahad said, not catching the fact that she had compared him to a frog, which was a little disappointing for the young woman.

"It is wonderful, isn't it?" She sighed happily.

He grinned. "Please do not become a bard anytime soon."

She pouted. "You didn't like it? But it is a traditional Irish story." He cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe not; it was the first nationality that popped into my head."

"Speaking of nationalities… I have wondered about this for a couple of days now, and have wanted to ask you, but have not had the opportunity to do so. Where are you from?"

"The ceiling is white," she said over-brightly.

"Don't change the subject, Rhoswen."

"But it is!" Rhoswen insisted.

"Very funny. How… wonderful. Now answer the question."

Should she lie to him? That would lose their trust if they found out. On the other hand, she might lose their trust in telling them her true nationality.

There was a silence.

"You are not Saxon, are you?"

"No, I am not," she whispered, and glanced away.

It dawned on him. She did not want to tell him her nationality and she was not Saxon, and there was only one other nationality that would be untrustworthy to Sarmatians besides Romans. It was something she knew he would not like; something all of the knights would like.

"You're a Woad, aren't you?" His tone was flat, and she winced.

"Yes," was the quiet reply. He gave a great sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

"Galahad, don't you _dare _go all funny with me!"

* * *

In the market place with Gawain, Rhoswen gazed around, searching for impressive sights or merchandise. It had been twelve days since Calhoun had attacked, and this was the first time she had ventured out of the healers' wing. Two days before they had begun to allow her to walk around and gather her strength once more. Against the strong cautions of Rangelle, Rhoswen had left, unable to sit in the bed any longer on her stomach or sit.

Rhoswen caught sight of a woman in a tattered dress fall to the ground at Arthur's feet, clinging to his blood red cloak, the symbol of his status as a commander. He knelt down beside her, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet.

She could see that the woman was saying something to the Roman. When she had finished speaking, his stern face had softened until it held a look of sympathy and empathy. Did she truly see that in his eyes? Or was she dreaming what she wanted to see?

No, it was truly sympathy that she saw. What she had long though had been confirmed; what everybody had told her had been confirmed. Arthur was no true Roman; he was kind man, a caring one. It was not just that he was Roman that made her surprised; it was the fact that he, commander of Hadrian's Wall and of legendary Sarmatian knights, cared about the people he governed over.

Arthur beckoned for a Roman guard and spoke to him; Rhoswen had no idea what the commander was saying to the other man, but she was that whatever it was wasn't good.

Arthur spotted her and motioned for her to come over to him, and gave Gawain a look over her shoulder that she took to mean to stay back so that he and she could talk alone for a moment. She obeyed. "The knights and I must ride out to a village and see what we can do about a group of Saxons."

She opened her mouth.

"No. You may _not _come. I will not allow a woman to accompany us and possibly die."

"But Arthur, I-"

"But nothing. Just do what I tell you!" he snapped.

"Arthur, _please! _Rangelle gets to accompany you at times!"

"Rangelle is a healer who is allowed to make her own decisions. _You, _one the other hand, are my charge and I will _not _allow you to accompany us.

"Arthur!"

"Rhoswen, for God's sake, stop being a rebellious bitch and just do what I tell you!"

"Come _on!" _she cried. "Please!"

"Shut up!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Stop making a commotion before I do something I will regret later."

"Alright, Commander." She whipped around and began to storm off.

"Rhoswen, get back here! I have orders for you!"

"_What!"_ she snarled and received a look from Arthur that chilled her to the bone. "Yes?"

"You are to stay within sight of Marke here. Marke?"

"Yessir?"

"Make sure she stays within your sight at all times unless bathing."

"And Rhoswen? I do not want to hear that you went riding out in the countryside or snuck from Marke's sight. Is that clear?" he said to the fuming woman.

"Yes," she said through clenched teeth. "Very clear, sir."

"Good." He strode off, red cape billowing in his wake.

That arrogant, conceited, gods-damned Roman! At that point she was regretting her failure at killing him. She wouldn't have to take such orders from him if he wasn't alive!

* * *

Rhoswen was restless, and had been for the past ten days. She was worried about the health of the knights, and she was worried that another assassin would attack when she had nobody to defend her but herself and Marke. Maunrus would send a far more accomplished assassin when he found out that Calhoun had failed his duty.

_Damn you Arthur! _she cried mentally. It had been a long week and three days. Unable to practice swordplay, ride Enya or any other form of excersie. _Why could I not come with you? _But she knew the answer. Rhoswen knew that she wasn't going to be fond of many of their missions as they obviously contained the slaughter of her people, even though the Woads had instigated the skirmishes that were fought between the Sarmatians and Romans versus the Woads. She would never be able to kill her own people, even if she hadn't lived with them for the longer part of her life.

And being followed by some stupid Roman hadn't been much fun either. She had to admit that Marke hadn't been that bad, and besides, he wasn't ugly. He just wasn't a Lancelot or Gawain though.

She absentmindedly scratched at a bug bite on her upper arm. Dressed in a tunic, breeches and boots, her upper arm was easily accessed. Even with the lighter clothes she wore, it was still hot outside. That was strange considering that it had been cloudy and cool for the greater part of the last week. Well, that was Britain's climate for you. _It is too bad the cold hadn't killed all the_ _bugs_, Rhoswen thought as she continue to scratch.

"Open the gates!" roared a familiar voice, that quickly snapped her out of her thoughts. Rhoswen rushed to the wall, sick with dread at Arthur's tone of voice, and did a quick count of heads. One knight was not on his horse. One knight was either dead or dying. She felt a sinking pit in her stomach; she had quickly taken a liking of the Sarmatians, and it was too soon for one of them to die. '

The two Romans manning the gate were frozen with shock to be so addressed by the commander. In a situation like this, they knew they were supposed to be doing something besides just opening the gate.

"You heard him!" she cried. "Damn it, open the GATE!"

They looked at her with a sneer on their faces. Why would they listen to a _woman?_ Woman were not meant to be respected, not meant to give orders. They were meant to decorate a house, cook, and bear children.

"Are you deaf? Did you not hear the commander? He told you to open the gates!"

That woke them up. Quickly they ushered the horses to open the doors and shouted down to the next set of guards to open the gates.

"One of you needs to go warn Rangelle!"

They sneered at her. Why should they listen to her?

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, GO TO THE HEALERS' WING AND WARN RANGELLE!" she shrieked, hoping that maybe if she used their god, they would listen to her.

The two guards looked at each other, shocked to be addressed so by a woman. "JUST _DO _IT!" They were hesitant. "If you do not go now, I will tell Arthur," she hissed, voice low with threat. That scared them. One of the Roman's took off at a run.

She took off at a run down the stairs and after the knights. She had to know who was wounded.

* * *

Well?

Priestess


	17. Marke

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead because she's an obnoxious, manipulative bitch in both the movie and legends. So really, it's too bad I don't own this movie. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

* * *

The two guards looked at each other, shocked to be addressed so by a woman.

"JUST _DO _IT!" Rhoswen snarled. At their continued hesitation, her patience snapped. "If you do not go now, I will inform Arthur of your incompetance," she hissed, voice low with threat. That scared them. One of the Romans took off at a run.

Rhoswen raced down the stairs and after the knights. She had to know who was wounded.

* * *

Maunrus paced the corridors of his mansion both nervously and angrily. Where was that stupid wench Aidan and Calhoun? Surely they _both _could not have failed the tasks that he had set before them! Never before had missions taken so long for the two of them. Never. They were his best assassins, his most talented, most cunning assassins. _Why was it taking this long?_

Agitatedly he ran a hand through his blond hair. This was an important mission and he had promised _him _that the commander would be taken care of quickly. It was not a mission to go wrong. After all, his employer was very important. He was powerful. Very powerful. And influential. Everything would come crashing down if he was not careful. That, Maunrus was sure of.

_He_ had the power to destroy Maunrus. Everything he had built, and even his freedom. His employer had the power to strip him of all that he owned, all that he was, and make him a slave. And that was something Maunrus knew would happen should this mission be a failure.

He licked his lips and glanced out the window. Still no sign of either Aidan (who he had long suspected had betrayed him), nor Calhoun (who he knew would never waver from his instructions) It had been a long time since he had sent Calhoun. Too long.

He had never been entirely sure about Aidan. She had always been fiery - hence the name that he had given her. It had taken the death of her friend and lover, and the fact that he'd convinced her that he held her mother captive, to tame the young woman.

Chances were that she had betrayed him. It would _never _take her this long to complete an assignment. All he could do was hope that Calhoun had found her before she told all his secrets to Artorius. He hated being helpless, feeling weak. After all, he was important. Important people should never feel agitated or worried. It just wasn't right.

Perhaps Aidan had run away. Perhaps that was why Calhoun was taking so long in returning back to Maunrus. Yes, that must be the reason for the wait! It made sense. After all, while she loathed Maunrus, she did not like any Roman, so she probably would not tell Artorius who had given her the orders to kill him, even if it would ruin him and perhaps be the cause of his demise. Content with his theory, he turned away from the window and sauntered back to his room, gesturing for one of his slave girls to follow him.

* * *

Taking off at a run, the very person that Maunrus had been cursing only moments ago dashed to the healers' room. She only lasted ten minutes of running as fast as she could. By the time she had reached the market place with Marke following closely behind, she was gasping for air and quite near collapsing.

Marke. Marke was an unusual Roman. He was bitter and sarcastic, but that came from how he had grown up. With much prodding from the young woman, Rhoswen had convinced a maid that it would be worthwhile to tell her about the Roman who was watching over her.

Marke Geniauous was a bastard. He had grown up his who life with the disdain of all for a "crime" that was not his own. The brown-haired man could have been handsome. Should have been. But there were lines around his mouth and on his forehead that signaled the absolute disappointments of his life, and all the hardships he had been through. Standing about four or five handspans taller than her, Marke was tall. Although not as tall as Dagonet or Arthur, he nevertheless was not a short man.

Most disliked him instantly after having heard from others that he was a bastard, but Rhoswen was rather inclined to like the cynical man. Actually, he reminded her of Lancelot; he was endearing in an obnoxious way.

And when Marke thought that nobody was watching, he was kind and compassionate, even though he was weary of the cruelty around him. Rhoswen was almost happy that she had stayed behind and had met this man.

She ignored the glares that Marke was sending her. "I… can't… _breathe_," wheezed Marke. "All… your… fault," he ground out between gasps of air.

"Oh… stop… complaining!" she snarled breathlessly. "Damn it! How… do… I get to… the healers'… quickly?"

"Without dying… from… lack… of air?" he muttered. "If I have to… run all the… way there… I am going… to be _very_… upset!"

"Will you-" She interrupted herself with a hiccough. "Shut _up!" _Rhoswen took a deep breath of air and forced her complaining body onward. She dashed once more. Luckily for her, the healers' was not far off, for the market place was only five minutes away from the healers' wing. By the time she reached the healers', she was exhausted and very close to fainting. As it was, she collapsed on the floor for a moment and closed her eyes to rid herself of the flashes of lights that she was seeing. Picking herself up from the floor after about a minute of lying on the ground, she stumbled into the room. She quickly ticked of the knights present and gasped when she realized who was injured.

* * *

Tristran was miserable. He had his friend's, his own, and Saxon's blood all over him. Contrary to many people's beliefs, he actually enjoyed being clean. It was not something that many people knew, which he found to be amusing. Thinking of blood drew his thoughts back to his friend.

The blood he was covered in was not the reason of his misery. It was that his brother-in-arm's wounds were a result of his carelessness.

It had all happened so quickly. Tristran had ridden ahead to scout, and had arrived to see the empty village. He had been greeted with the sight of a band of Saxons gathered around a campfire. There were far more of the enemy the woman had described… and their guide who Arthur had to flee as sitting at the fire sharing a bite of pheasant with one of the men.

His eyes flashed with anger. Traitors were the lowliest scum on Earth. Even worse than Romans, perhaps.

Tristran had no doubt that there once _had _been villagers, but apparently they already had been killed. _Scum, _he snarled to himself. _Gods damned scum! _

He whirled his horse around and silently the two rode back to where the rest of the knights were waiting. When he reached their make-shift camp, that's when everything had spun out of control. The Saxons had sent out a large scouting party-about eighteen, so it couldn't really be called a group of scouts, but nevertheless…

Caught by surprise, (again Tristran cursed himself for his stupidity. How could he not have noticed them?), they'd had no chance. When the skirmish had ended, a knight lay gravely wounded on the forest floor.

* * *

"Bedwyr?" she whispered. "Is he alright? Is he…"

Wearily Gawain answered, "For the moment he is alive. And then, we will see."

"His wounds?" she badgered the blonde knight for answers, momentarily forgetting the Roman who awkwardly stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. Awkwardness was what Marke always felt when he wasn't being addressed and was basically being ignored.

"A sword slash to the wrist that severed a muscle, and another to the back."

Rhoswen bit her lip, knowing from the short time that she had met Bedwyr that it would be very painful for the Sarmatian to not be able to play the harp.

"Will he ever be able to play the harp again?"

"Let us first hope that he survives."

"You did not answer my question, Gawain!"

"Not for many, many months, if ever," he replied flatly, and turned back to the door to walk once more into the room where Bedwyr lay injured. She glanced at Lancelot.

"What did I say?"

"Nothing. He is just worried, Rhoswen, like the rest of us." He too turned around and walked back in to the room without saying anything else.

She hadn't said anything wrong? Why were they being treated like this? "So this is the treatment I get for risking punishment for yelling at the guards," she said bitterly to herself. "Come, Marke, let us go somewhere else where we will be welcomed." _What is their problem? What did I say? What did I do to so deserve this?_

"Rhoswen, you must not run off with him!" said Galahad disdainfully after closing the door to the healing room that Bedwyr was in. "He will not be able to protect you. Romans- especially bastards- are not qualified." Galahad normally had no problems with bastards, for he adored Vanora and Bors' children, but somehow the Sarmatian had sensed that this would hurt the Roman. And he was right.

Marke's mouth twisted and his eyes flashed. "It was nice meeting you, Rhoswen. Good-bye." He turned around and stalked off, but Rhoswen could see the pain that Galahad's words had caused him. Marke had not insulted Galahad back, signaling that he was very, very hurt.

"Marke, _wait!_" He continued walking down the hall, back rigid.

"What the hell was that for?" she snarled at Galahad.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why would you care about his feelings? He is a _Roman, _Rhoswen!"

"And you are Sarmatian, which means I should hate you on principle, but I do not, do I? That was very, very rude, and very, very nasty and Roman of you. Watch who you are calling a Roman, for you resemble one at this moment!"

"Well, I do not need your lectures, Woad." Her eyes narrowed, and she realized why the knights were being hostile. She had entrusted her secrets in him! "You are not welcome here. Go."

Hurt, with her shoulders slumped and her head down, Rhoswen slowly walked to the door, and opened it. She didn't understand what she had done wrong to deserve his disdain. _I guess I chose the wrong man to tell all._ She did not stop walking, she merely said quietly: "have a nice life, Galahad. I wish you the best." She closed the door behind her.

Galahad stared at the door for many more minutes to come, wondering why he had said what he had just uttered.

"Marke!" she called. He was not that far in front of her. He must have stopped to do something for she could still see him. "Marke, wait!" She dashed off, and in about ten seconds caught up to him.

"Why have you come, girl? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you pity me? Do you?"

"Not exactly."

"He turned on you, did he not?"

"I do not want to talk about it."

"I shall acquiesce your desires for I am a wonderful man." She did not take the opportunity to make a snide comment.

"Let's go to the tavern," she suggested, thinking that being drunk might solve her problems for the moment. Marke cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"You don't like the being-drunk-will-solve-my-problems sort of person."

"There's a lot that you don't know about me," she said cryptically. Her eyes were burning with tears she refused to shed. She wasn't just hurt at Galahad's words and the other knights' reactions to her heritage, she was devastated. Devastated enough to contemplate leaving Hadrian's Wall's safety. But there was the problem of where to go. She didn't really want to go home to the Woads; the forest wasn't a home anymore. And she wouldn't go to Rome. Or Sarmatia. Perhaps she could go to Wales or Ireland. Those were possibilities.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go to the tavern."

Marke allowed himself to be led by the younger woman, thinking that a drink wouldn't be so bad. Galahad had done a good job at hurting the two of them. Rhoswen more so than him though. After all, Rhoswen had thought Galahad to be a friend. He could see that the deep sorrow and betrayal in her eyes was already eating away at her soul. Galahad had torn down the barriers only to hurt her far worse.

When the pair entered the tavern area, they were met with the sight of a large, large crowd of people.

Rhoswen saw Vanora's scalding look the redhead sent her way. Doubtless Elayne had told Vanora of Rhoswen's harsh words. That was fine; she could live with the two of them hating her. It was better than losing another friend to death.

* * *

Five drinks later, Rhoswen was completely drunk, and so was Marke, and although it had taken him seven drinks to be inebriated, he was drunk nevertheless.

"You have nice hair," slurred Rhoswen, running a hand through the Roman's mop. He smiled, tossing a couple of coins on the table and clumsily rising from his chair. Rhoswen followed moments later, stumbling woozily, and grabbing the table for support. "Whoops," she mumbled, attempting to make a dignified exit from the tavern, with Marke following close behind.

* * *

Something was pricking her cheek, Rhoswen realiszd hazily, and there was some sort of large, warm presence next to her. Groggily she opened one eye and then quickly opened the other. "Marke!" Oh gods, she hadn't had she?

He jumped, suddenly wide awake. "Wha-"

Both groaned at the searing pain in their heads. "Oh this is great. Just wonderful!" she said to herself. _No, no, no, NO!_

Marke clutched his head as she leaned over the side of the bed as a wave of nausea hit her. She had never had more than one mug of ale before.

Around the room were hastily discarded items of clothing. Oh gods, they had. Marke noticed the same thing, just around the same time that Rhoswen did.

"Well, this is completely awkward," she finally muttered through the pain in her head, her face burning with mortification.

"Aye, but it'd be nice if you would cease talking."

For an hour the two just lay in the bed, wresting with the horrible symptoms of a hangover. Finally, Rhoswen summoned enough energy to rise. "I need something, anything for my head. I can't take it any more!" She grumbled, reaching for her clothes.

"I am a complete moron!" Marke muttered to himself.

"I second that," was Rhoswen's reply.

He ignored her. "I have some hangover remedies."

"You are officially my hero!" she declared.

Marke stumbled out of the bed, and Rhoswen averted her gaze. He rummaged through his trunk of clothes and other things. He returned with a cup of something. He took a large gulp of it first and then handed her the rest. She downed it and then almost spat it out.

She gagged and almost threw up. "This stuff tastes horrible!"

"Careful," he warned as he put on some clothes. "There's none left and I'm not going to get some herbs to make you another hangover remedy."

There was an awkward silence.

"Alright," Rhoswen said, breaking the silence. She paused. "Can we just not _ever_ mention last night?"

"Good idea," he said.

"Gods," she muttered. "I just cannot believe it."

"Me either."

"Hey," she said, after the pain had faded significantly. "If I were to write letter-"

He interrupted her. "You can write?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn't have just said what I had."

"How did you learn it?"

"Moving back to the point at hand, if I were to write a letter, would you give it to Vanora and Elayne for me?"

"What am I? Your servant?" She gave him a look. "Oh alright, I suppose this one time would not hurt."

She rose after wrapping herself up in a sheet. Rhoswen awkwardly motioned for the Roman to turn around so that she could dress herself. After she had finished the task, she looked down and was greeted with rather rumpled sight that probably said 'hey look, I had sex last night!' Fortunately she would be proved wrong. At least the collar of her shirt covered up the bite mark on her neck.

"You look fine," Marke said reassuringly.

_Vanora and Elayne,_

_I know that you have no reason to read this, and have every right to just tear this sheet of paper up in to shreds without reading any further. I have been an absolute bitch, and I acknowledge it. I am truly sorry for my harsh words. Please forgive me; I had a justification, although you probably do not agree with that. In fact, I am just making excuses to myself to justify my ending of our friendship. You see, I can not stand to lose yet another loved one in my life; I have already lost a best friend, and two lovers, one of which just attempted to murder me. I hope that perhaps one day you will begin to understand my motivation for my words to you, and my ending of our friendships. _

_Vanora, good luck with that brood of yours. I hope that you will be able to manage the lot of them! Congratulations on any future children you and Bors decide to have! I am sure there will be more, and one day, you might be able to make your own village with just your children alone! _

_Elayne, Lancelot is a prick and I hope that you do not fall for his charms. My advice has never been the best, and I hope that I am wrong, but guard your heart around him, for he has broken many a heart before! Nevertheless, I wish the two of you the best of luck, and may you find happiness together!_

_I hope you will never forget me, and I guarantee I will never forget your kindness! Thank you both for the friendship that you offered me that I so rudely turned down. Best wishes to the both of you,_

_Rhoswen_

She folded it up and handed it to him. "Please give this to either Vanora or Elayne, whichever you see first. Either that or whichever one you like more."

* * *

OH MY GOD! It has been nearly TWO months since I've updated! Anyways, I have NOT forgotten about it and I hope you guys haven't lost interest:) Happy holidays! Please review, it takes only a moment!

Anyways, thanks for sticking with it! I hope you guys have/had a great holiday!

Rachel


	18. Chapter 18

Title: Blood Red Rose

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An assassin with a cruel past and no hope for her future. Arthur is the next person on her list. His death will buy her her freedom. But for her, unfortunately, nothing is easy or simple, even when all she must do is draw her knife across a throat. OC? (maybe)

Genre: Action/Adventure/General

Pairing: OC?

Disclaimer: Sadly I still do not own "King Arthur." If I did, Tristran and Lancelot would not have died, and Guinevere would have died a very long painful death instead because she's an obnoxious, manipulative bitch in both the movie and legends. So really, it's too bad I don't own this movie. Nothing is mine, unless it's not from the movie. I do not intent to make any money from this, and nor do I intend on infringing on any copyrights.

_Somebody get me through this nightmare,_

_I can't control myself._

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me?_

_No one will ever change this animal I have become._

_**Three Days Grace**_

She folded it up and handed it to him. "Please give this to either Vanora or Elayne, whichever you see first. Either that or whichever one you like more."

"Gone?" he asked blankly from his seat outside the Bedwyr's room, dark brown hair neglected and tangled, eyes weary. There were dark circles beneath his eyes from his vigilance outside Bedwyr's room announcing the fact that he hadn't slept for well over thirty-six hours. The seat looked abused; it looked as though it was permanently imprinted with the shape of Galahad. "She left? With Marke?" Galahad was stunned.

Surely she was jesting? She wouldn't actually _leave, _would she? She wouldn't. She _couldn't. _Rhoswen couldn't be that dumb, could she? She was naïve but she wasn't that dumb. Or at least that was what he'd thought.

And why had she left? Because he'd been an ass to her, treating her in a way that she shouldn't have been, especially after all that she had confided in him. They'd been getting closer. They'd been becoming partially friends.

He felt like a selfish ass; she needed their protection. And not only did she need their protection, Arthur needed to know who had wanted him dead. _What _had he done? He had gone and crushed her heart, making her feel as though she needed to be as far from Hadrian's Wall as possible. His actions would probably kill her, and perhaps Arthur too.

"Yes," Vanora replied. "Earlier this day—around noon. Why did she leave, Galahad? Was she not to be under Arthur's protection?" Vanora didn't know anything about what had gone on, did she? No, she couldn't have. But her entirely innocent question made Galahad feel even worse about what he had done.

"Oh god, what have I done?" He buried his face in his hands. It was not so much the loss of her presence that upset him. It was more the fact that she was everything that he had sworn to protect; everything she represented was what he had sworn to protect. And he had most likely just driven her to her doom.

Without the knights, she could not fend off all of the other assassins that the Roman would send after her. Maybe she would survive one attack, maybe ten, but ultimately an assassin would get lucky and Rhoswen would lose her life. Marke, soldier he may be, was not properly trained to deal with talent like that.

"Galahad, what did you do?" demanded the redhead, suddenly aware that _something _had gone wrong between the two because for some reason Galahad was upset. "What happened between the two of you? Did you cause this?"

"I was very, very angry, and very, very upset and hurting. She entrusted her greatest secret in me, Vanora! One that could end her friendship with any Roman or Sarmatian alike. She confided in me, and I held her soul in my hands only to crush it. She trusted me and I betrayed that trust! Oh god, Vanora, you should have seen the hurt on her face. The pain! This is all my fault! We are supposed to be protecting her!" _He was overreacting a bit_, thought Vanora. He had always been dramatic.

Vanora noticed his hurt, but his actions had been so vile that she felt the need to lecture him, despite however horrible he felt about them. Vanora was their conscience. No matter what she would not let them get away with anything and that was something all the knights respected the redhead barmaid for.

"You fool!" she hissed. "How could you do that to her? Angry I may be with her for hurting Elayne, you had _no _right to do that! You who swore to protect the like of her!"

"Do you think that I do not know that?" he snarled, angry once more, his fierce temper displaying itself proudly. "Who are you to lecture me, woman? You who do naught but breed and cook and serve? You who has not done naught to defend this fort? You who has shed no blood for the defense of a country that you loathe?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened and the anger left him immediately, replacing itself with remorse, and he hung his head shamefully.

"Vanora, I-" _Fucked up. Again. _

"Save your apologies for others, _Sir Galahad. _As I am obviously a disgrace to your presence I shall see Bedwyr." She swept out of the room and into Bedwyr's. Galahad slid to the floor against the wall and buried his head in his hands, hating himself, loathing his guts, his damned temper! Why was he like this? Why did he have to hurt people that he cared for? What was it that made him hurt others.

He felt bad about Rhoswen, yes, but Vanora knew just how to make him hate himself. Even without her help he would have hated his tongue. The hurt on her face too was far too much for him to handle.

He had just hurt Vanora. Pretty, kind, generous Vanora who had spent much time tending all of their wounds, serving them drinks in the bars, cheering them up when they were down.

Who was this monster? This cruel, un-thoughtful monster he had become? _Why have you left me, Gareth, when I need you most?_

"Are we there yet?" Rhoswen complained, very aware of how much her back end hurt from hours in a tough leather saddle. The throbbing made it quite hard to focus on anything other than getting to the village as soon as possible so that she could get off Enya. Used to work she might be, but being in the saddle for hours and hours was not something that she had much experience in. Marke on the other hand, did not seem the least bit bothered by those hours.

Marke looked at her in amusement, eyes twinkling. "You do realize that you just asked me this about two minutes ago, yes?"

"So what? It is two minutes later than when I asked you. Just think about all the ground we covered in those two whole minutes," she said wistfully, attempting to will the village closer to them. How far away could it be? They must have covered _thousands _of miles today, considering they'd been riding for about four hours straight. Quite frankly Rhoswen was about to scream if they did not stop riding soon.

"You keep on wishing that, Rhoswen." He could not conceal his laughter. It was far too hard to _not _laugh at her. He had to chuckle at the antics of the woman who rode beside him. She was so old in some of her actions, and yet so unbelievably young in others.

"You didn't answer my question, Marke!" Her resilience was surprising to the Roman. About twenty-four hours ago the man she had confided in had hurt her badly, and yet she could still laugh with him. She was not sulking on the saddle. It made him stop to wonder if the young woman felt any emotions at all.

"You do realize you have the attention span of a toddler, right?"

"You didn't answer my question," she whined.

"I don't intend on answering you."

Rhoswen may not have directly told him that she had confided something of importance in Galahad, but to the Roman, somehow it was easy to detect that she had. After all, he had spent much of his life watching others and observing them.

He sighed, suddenly somber. "A village ahead is about three hours away where we can stop at a tavern for the night."

"Oh." Strangely enough, Marke and she were closer after they had slept together. There was no awkwardness. No silences where they tried their best to ignore one another in embarrassment. But then again, it could also be the knights' rejection of Rhoswen. After all, Marke had faced rejection all his life and to meet somebody who had also been discarded by others, but was not prejudiced against him was definitely a good change. Now, Marke would never have wished such misery against Rhoswen, but it did make him feel closer to her than he had previously felt.

Tristran was lost in his melancholy once more. He had just been the cause of Bedwyr's injury despite what the others said.

And Isolde had died just around now. He was thankful that the others had momentarily forgotten his state of mind because they were so worried about Bedwyr. Bedwyr had always been a good man. He was loyal to a fault, and he could coerce even the most prejudiced Roman to like him. That was an exaggeration, but it was something along those lines.

Bedwyr's loss of ability to play harp would wound the man greatly and Tristran doubted that his fellow Sarmatian would ever be the same if he was forever unable to play. Playing harp was something that allowed Bedwyr to forget all that was happening around him and go back to a time where his life had been truly peaceful and happy with his mother and father and the rest of his tribe.

Well, Tristran supposed that it was a good change to not have everybody attempt to lull him out of his "self-absorbed pity" as Gawain had so kindly put it. A poet's tongue Gawain did not have. Self-pity or not, Tristran missed Isolde. Vanora had tried to introduce him to some other women, but Tristran no longer wanted emotional attachments, especially to women. He wanted a quick tumble in the stables for a coin, and that was as close as he got to "love."

What was love, anyways? He wasn't sure if he knew. To him, it no longer existed. He felt bonds, friendship, not 'love.' Love did not exist. It was so much easier for him to live that way, to not take the risk of losing another person that he loved. He had vowed never to invest too much emotion in a living thing. As it was, his was about to lose one of his friends if his tendons did not recover.

So Tristran was left in the shadows. Alone, as he would always have been, had Isolde never come along. But even with Isolde's memories, he was alone.

"She _left?" _Maunrus could not believe his luck, and her idiocy. Why did Rhoswen leave? The fool! He thought that he had trained her better than that. He had thought she was smarter, more reasonable than that. She had to know that he was waiting for her, for an opportunity to kill her.

"She _left Hadrian's Wall?" _He began to chuckle. All good things came to those who waited.

"Yes, she left," replied the man; Maunrus couldn't remember his name. Ain… Ane… Alen… Alexander? Yes, that was it. "I have a man trailing her and the Roman as we speak. Shall I tell him that he may kill her?"

"Yes, and if he is up to it, he may kill the Roman too."

"And payment?"

"If your man fulfills his job than you may have many, many pounds of gold." Maunrus watched the man's eyes fill with greed. Commoners, the whole lot of them. They thought of naught but money, money, money.

Alexander had no idea _why _this nobleman so desired this woman to be dead, but for the sum that Maunrus was willing to pay, Alexander would kill his own mother to get his hands on the amount of gold Maunrus was suggesting.

"When?"

"The sooner, the better. Make it quick and painful if your man desires." Normally Maunrus would have sent one of his own assassins, but he had not known she would leave the safety the knights had undoubtedly promised her. So he had sent another man's assassin after her; better another's than his own. He could not risk another one of assassins on this damned woman. As it was ten years of training had gone down the drain, as well as Calhoun's talent and training. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Maunrus cursed Rhoswen. He should have killed her when he had the chance. He should have known that she would betray him.

_Guess whatttt? I'm back. Wow it's been like months. I hope somebody still reads this. This is pretty short, I know, but it's just to get back into the swing of things._


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